From the darkness, I see the night-sky lining landscape of a major metropolitan city. However, I instantly recognize it as the absolutely generic and stagnant "city" that makes up false reality that is the Matrix. I watch as millions upon millions of enslaved human beings carry-on their nocturnal vices. If they only knew what was behind the curtain.

With skyscrapers that all look non-unique, a building in the distance catches my eyes. A rather glooming glass structure that strangely stands apart from the mechanic mirage of the Matrix, almost a monument in itself to the successful artificiality implemented by the machines themselves. I slowly float consciously closer to this building when reality is shattered.

Someone jumps out throw the window and proceeds to fall downward, followed by another. I realize that the first jumper is one of the leather-wearing members of my revolutionary human forces from Zion, while the second jumper is an Agent program guard for the machines. The rebel jumper is female and through time-delayed slow motion, she turns in midair and fires her firearms against the masculine Caucasian-visualized Agent, who draws his revolver against her.

As they plummet towards the street below, they fire away at each other, almost as if they were unaware of their shared predicament.

My heart is paralyzed when I recognized the woman fighting for her life. Trinity.

How, when, and why she is struggling to survive is unknown, but then the Agent pulls the trigger, and the canon of a gun pushes the bullet into the open. Trinity desperately keeps blasting her guns away as she sees this ammunition of a spear coming towards her. With time stretched beyond senses of reality, her breathing intensifies; her hair flutters in the wind, and she is helpless to dodge this bullet in time.

The bullet is a direct hit to her chest, and my chest feels this lethal punch with her. Her eyes lose focus; she loses control of her weapons, and floats toward her death, whether the bullet or asphalt street first remains to be seen. With life slipping away from her eyes, she mutters one soft word from the bare lips of her sullen face.

"Neo"

I am subconsciously not surprised, if expecting, to hear her usher that word, that name once again before her death. My name.

She falls from my view, but suddenly I only witness a body, whatever it is Trinity or the predator Agent, smashing into a parked car with all the muscle of gravity. Then the light breaks through from another dimension of reality…