a/n: Hi, everyone... okay, here is another Synergy chapter... and our ex agent Smith :)
I notice from my stats that many of you are visiting, but not reviewing :( Please drop me a message if you read it and enjoyed it ... Smiles :) - Syd
Chapter 8
Synergy stood at the bar, blue sky Curacao martini in hand, scrutinizing her surroundings with a muted expression of disgust. The restaurant was nothing like she remembered. Her former benefactor had replaced the classy, conservative style of haute French cuisine with a lavish, trendy design more akin to a cosmopolitan fusion lounge. It was modern, in the worst possible sense, with newage music assaulting her ears from all directions, and the rooms dimly soaked in deep orange, red and pink lighting. The guests, all young, thin and beautiful, walked around in a drug-induced trance, pretentiously sipping Japanese sake cocktails and showing-off the newest, most expensive eccentricities of cutting-edge designers.
She idly pushed a few truffles around on her plate. The mushrooms had been doctored, reprogrammed to have a slight euphoric effect after leaving a playful tingle on the tongue of the diner. Synergy was unimpressed. There was something to be said for authenticity. For a program with such power, cheating the elements when it came to appetizers seemed cheap. If nothing else, she should dispose of him for crimes against good taste, Synergy thought. She'd certainly be doing the Parisian social scene a favour.
After checking her watch for the third time in a quarter of an hour, Synergy decided that if she wasn't going to get something decent to eat, it was time to pay the Merovingian a long-overdue visit. It was disappointing, as she had been looking forward to a refreshing taste of good French food and a nice glass of wine. Smith was a terribly dull dining partner with an uneducated palette, and could never be counted upon to opt for anything more sophisticated than fast-food take-out. And if he brought home noodles one more time, expecting her to eat them, she would literally crush him like an insect. He wasn't of any use in the kitchen, either. The one time she forced him to cook (it was the day that he'd lost his temper and shot her chef), Smith managed to burn the duck al'orange, which she considered to be her most idiot-proof recipe. Apparently, he 'wasn't programmed to bake game.'
Synergy groaned and finished the rest of her awful drink in a long gulp. The Program. The useless, self-involved, foolish, American program! Once she got everything she needed from him, she would dispose of Smith with pleasure. Actually, maybe she'd let Neo do it himself. She'd hold Smith down, and let the human Saviour just go nuts on the guy. The wife, too, if she wanted. It was the least she could do, Synergy considered, given what she had in store for them.
She meandered her way through several theme rooms, each designed to offer a different international flavour, but all Synergy could see was lounge after lounge of tawdry Euro-trash. She wondered if Zion offered anything nicer. She doubted it. But of course, it didn't matter. If everything went according to plan, she'd never have to spend one moment in the underground city that her unfortunate biological brothers and sisters called home. If she had her way, in a few years, Zion wouldn't even exist anymore.
The final segment of the restaurant was separated from the adjoining rooms with walls of gaudy diamond-beaded curtains which sparkled in the candlelight. The space was furnished with several symmetrically arranged square tables set very close to the ground, all decorated with blue and white china on plain tablecloths. The single waitress was impossibly thin, her emaciated body rolled in a black and gold kimono, her unevenly dyed hair carelessly tangled up in a pair chopsticks. She didn't even look up at Synergy as she served her single patron, who sat Indian-style on a floor cushion, barely touching a huge bowl of Vietnamese pho soup and a glass of rice wine.
Synergy's attention was to the far end of the room where an awkwardly-placed fountain waterfall emptied into a pool filled with goldfish and several pieces of loose change. Behind the babbling eyesore were two doors. The first was a set of swinging double-flaps with circular windows; the kitchen, no doubt. The other had a gold-coloured plaque engraved with the word 'Privé' in black letters. Synergy slowly toured the room, feigning interest in the imitation antique Chinese vases lining the walls.
It didn't take long for her patience to yield the desired result. The double doors swung open, and a waiter dressed in a black suit carrying a covered platter emerged from the kitchen and swiped a security card in front of the private entrance. The lock clicked open, and he disappeared inside, not noticing that the door did not completely close behind him. Carefully, Synergy was holding it ajar from across the room.
She approached leisurely, suppressing the grin that was her natural reaction to such an effortless success. But as her fingers grazed the knob, Smith's warning echoed in her thoughts, his deep, luscious voice wrapping itself around her like silk bondage. And for an instant, she hesitated. This was too easy.
Suddenly, the door was pulled open, and a short, well-dressed Frenchman with a pointy moustache and gel-slicked hair met her eyes with a sinister twinkle. "Oui, je vous aider?"
Synergy fought the impulse to back away as every instinct she had told her that she had made a mistake. Something was wrong, she heard herself think. She could sense it, as a cat senses an oncoming downpour; the air was polarized with the potential energy of a highly-charged electrical storm. But there was something else, prickling impatiently at her fingertips, inducing an impulse far stronger than the urge to flee. Synergy could tell he was close.
"You know why I'm here, Servant." She stated the obvious without preamble.
The host forced a polite smile. "Mademoiselle Synergy, of course. He has been expecting you. Right this way, if you please."
The hallway had floors of black and red chequered tile, and tapestried walls guarded by gargoyle statues. Every few paces a chandelier lit their way with brief islands of candlelight. But Synergy did not notice the darkness; the code was what interested her most. It was damaged, incomplete, the tips of the outermost algorithms frayed away like the telomeres of aged DNA. Remnants of undermaintained programs hung in gossamers over marble statues and oil paintings. Everything here was ancient, older than anything she'd ever seen before.
"What is this place?" Synergy asked, studying the green, cascading symbols as an anthropologist would hieroglyphics in a cave.
Her guide didn't answer, but stopped outside a large wooden door, which flickered in and out of physical existence like a badly-wired florescent light. Out of phase with the fluctuating entrance, and eerily out of place in its forbidding surroundings was the sweet melody of violins.
"He is entertaining some of his… favourite clients," the Frenchman said, his moustache curling upwards with another saccharine smile.
Synergy shoved him aside with a bust of energy, and swung the door open with a small gesture of her hand. The music now unmuffled, she could hear a man's voice singing the lyrics of a melodramatic love song.
On this night of a thousand stars
Let me take you to heaven's door
Where the music of love's guitars
Plays forever more…
The huge ballroom was filled with couples, the men wearing tuxedos and the women, elaborate gowns and elbow-length white gloves. Synergy could see none of their faces; all wore costume party masks, decorated with gems, flowers and feathers of every possible colour and design. Waiters served sparkling wine, which Synergy refused, scanning the crowded room impatiently for the one man who would not be able to hide from her so easily.
"Well, well, well."
Synergy's head tilted up towards the balcony when she heard a laugh as cold and cruel as it was unmistakable. The Merovingian was standing on the balcony which overlooked the main dance floor, dressed in a back Nehru jacket with a red rose on the breast pocket.
"My dear, come and look. Your little brat has come back home."
Persephone arrived at his side with a horrified expression on her face. Synergy nearly didn't recognize her. If she didn't know it to be impossible, she would have been sure that she had aged since last they met. Squeezed tightly into a corseted gold dress, her heavily made-up eyes were stark against a chalky, tried complexion.
"My God. What are you doing here?" Persephone gasped, one hand clutching her husband's arm, as if to restrain him from whatever action he was about to take.
"You." Synergy pointed at her former mother as she headed for the balcony's staircase that wrapped around the front of the room. Masked couples stepped out of her path, and the orchestra abruptly stopped their playing. "You have come between us once before. I will not make the mistake of allowing that to happen again."
"Please, you must leave now-" but Synergy did not allow her to finish her sentence. Struggling for breath, Persephone clawed at the chunky, chandelier-style diamond necklace around her neck, slumping to the floor just as Synergy arrived at the top of the staircase. Two bodyguards pulled out guns, but the men were tossed over the railing before they could take a shot, leaving the three of them alone.
As his wife continued to choke, the Merovingian picked up his wine, took a sip, and chuckled. "How delightfully ironic. All this time I thought you were upset with me."
Suddenly, the glass shattered in his hand. "Don't rush me." Synergy said, finally releasing Persephone, who lay motionless on the ground.
He cursed under his breath as he wiped the booze off his jacket with a pocket handkerchief. "Now you go too far," he hissed. "That was a Pichon Baron!"
"Mille neuf-cent quatre-vingt-trois," Synergy read from the bottle on the round dinner table at which he and Persephone had been eating. "This wine isn't even drinkable for another two years."
He glared back, and for an immensely satisfying moment, Synergy thought he might actually spit at her. She had hit below the belt.
"Perhaps those degenerates at that cesspool you call a restaurant will swallow this insult," she continued, "but if you knew I was coming, you could have at least put out something vintage. It's not every day we have a family meeting." Synergy inconspicuously glanced down at Persephone, somewhat relieved to see her still breathing. "But of course I'm not here because we're family; I'm here because we're not family."
"Yes, we had been meaning to tell you. You were adopted." He grinned, his words careful and calculated as he studied her with interest. "But of course you know that. And now that you are so much older it has become quite obvious. Amazing how you breeders by your very nature are limited to the shortcomings of your predecessors. It makes life so redundant for the rest of us. You see, I've been here once before, and now here I am again. Watching the progeny stumble around like blind and drunken insects bumbling towards a flame, completely powerless in their astounding ignorance."
"I'm afraid our lack of novelty is mutual. I've already heard this speech."
"Ah, yes. The retired Agent Smith, back from Exile and as verbose as ever. I don't suppose he's been of any help to you, has he? Which brings us to the real reason you have come to me now. Insulting my wine, disturbing my guests." He motioned to the sea of masked faces below them, all looking up at the balcony like an army of mindless, featureless drones. "You might tell yourself you've come here for revenge, but the simple enough truth is that you are here not because you are powerful but because you are powerless. The Why is what's lacking, the Why of your life. The missing link in your chain. You are a slave to the same insatiable desire which fuels the futile search of so many of your kind for meaning, truth, and Purpose. But it is plain enough that this quest is but a symptom, a distraction from the only question of any importance: the question of identity. You want to know who you really are."
"Whether you tell me or not Program, I'm going to kill you. It's just a question of how." Synergy pinned him against the wall, picked up a steak-knife from one of the place-settings, and took her time slicing off the buttons of his jacket, one by one. "I picked up a few things during my years in the dungeons, you know. One of them of course, was bloodlust. And another was the virtue of patience; I could keep this up for days," she said softly, plucking the single rose he wore from his chest, and sliding the stem into the whorl of her French twist. "So. What's it gonna be, Merv?"
"You know, your predecessor, as crude as she was, had much more respect." He stared down mournfully at his ruined suit. "Honestly, why doesn't anybody use guns anymore?"
The hairs on the back of Synergy's neck prickled to attention as she suddenly realized they were no longer alone. The balcony was flooded by the masquerade guests, the gaudy masks all staring at her blankly. She couldn't imagine how they'd all assembled there so quickly, and without drawing her attention.
"I don't believe you've met the residents of my Underworld, have you?"
As if on command, the well-dressed couples began to remove their headdresses, revealing the horrifying faces which lay underneath. Only bits and pieces of their once beautiful, young features remained, barely held together by old, degenerated code. It was almost as if their programs had rotted away. Tiny code-dwelling parasites crawled in and out of the gaping orifices, feeding on the remaining edges of the matrices.
"What's the matter, my dear? You look as if you've seen a ghost," The Merovingian laughed.
"What have you done to them?" Synergy heard herself whisper, eyes wide with wonder. Many had parts of their skulls exposed, muscular and connective tissue having long-since fallen away. It was clear enough that some of their supporting subroutines were failing; the malfunctions manifesting themselves in entire segments of their faces fading in and out of reality.
"As is the case in all of my business dealings, the gift of immortality comes at a price," he explained. "They aren't much to look at, but I assure you, you won't find a better party in town."
One of the hollow-eyed phantoms took a step towards her, and Synergy instinctively let out a huge bust of energy in defence, which rippled through the air in front of her, warping the code itself into a wave. As the crest crashed against her target, however, the figure flickered a few times, vanishing from her sight, only to reappear unscathed in its wake. Panicking, Synergy tried to focus on capturing the creature, searching the area of the balcony for its presence, but she could sense nothing. It was almost as if none of them were actually there, and all she could see were shadows of the people that had once existed.
In a few seconds she was surrounded, desperately trying to maintain her grip on The Merovingian in the midst of her distress. "Tell them to back away," she warned, squeezing at his neck. "Or I'll kill you."
"I'm afraid there's no arguing with them when they're hungry," The Merovingian answered. "And it's been a few centuries since they've had such a powerful guest for dinner."
A gaunt woman in a strapless black evening gown reached out and snatched her wrist. Synergy hollered out in surprise, releasing the Merovingian and frantically trying to claw the bony fingers from her arm. She was losing her balance, feeling faint and weak, as if all her energy were being drained from her body. "Let go," she panted, watching in shock as the woman's fine, delicate features slowly began to reappear, as if time were speeding backwards, restoring a youthful twinkle to her bright blue eyes and a flirtatious pink flush to her cheeks.
With her last burst of adrenaline-induced force, Synergy gripped the steak-knife tightly in her free hand and stabbed it directly into the chest of the feeding program. Taken off-guard, the woman stumbled backwards, finally letting Synergy go. As the rest of the Merovingian's dead army advanced on her, Synergy made a quick dash for the edge of the balcony, leaping over the railing without a second's hesitation. Three elegant flips in the air and she made a flawless landing on the main dance floor, both feet squarely on the ground.
But she was too late. Hundreds of reinforcements began to materialize through all four walls of the ballroom; there was nowhere for her to go. Her world very quickly became a tight circle of starving, decayed programs, which grabbed indiscriminately at her hair, clothing and arms. She screamed, feeling the air being ripped from her lungs and the strength robbed from her legs as she collapsed onto the ground.
As The Lord of the Dead watched from his view high atop the spectacle, his unforgiving cackle booming though the room. Synergy struggled to stay awake, but she was soon overwhelmed, her vision fading from blurry to black. As she drifted further and further away from consciousness, she heard the smooth, sadistic melody of a very familiar voice, echoing in the distance.
"I've come to propose a business deal, old friend. You let The Human go, or you and your wife can join the rest of the party on the Other Side. I hope that isn't too verbose for you to process."
Smith was standing on the balcony next to the Merovingian, pressing his Desert Eagle firmly against the Frenchman's right temple. The Merovingian turned his head slightly to see behind him, where Agent Johnson was providing backup, and Agent Brown was pointing a gun at the unconscious Persephone.
"Interesting deal. It seems not everyone has forgotten how to play the game with style." He smiled bitterly. "You know, if I don't let her go, they'll eat you and your friends alive. Are you really ready to die for this human? I have to confess, I find that rather out of character for you, old friend."
Agents Brown and Johnson exchanged uncertain glances through dark sunglasses. Smith cocked his gun. "Believe it."