The next day, at work, everything went as usual, but Morgana couldn't shake that weird feeling off regarding the messages exchanged. All day, she tried pinpointing how she felt about this, but she didn't know yet. On one hand, she felt a bit apprehensive—how did a stranger on the internet know something she only mentioned in real life? But on the other hand, were they an ally? She wasn't sure what the motives behind that conversation were, but she couldn't stop thinking about it. Really, for all she knew, it could've been someone just playing a joke on her; but still, it was so weirdly specific.
She remembered being so shaken up by the messages, that she hadn't even opened the other ones. While making her rounds, more to get away from Linda and her crew of cynical nurses, she checked in on an empty room and observed it for any leaks or missing equipment. As she was turning around to go, the corded phone in the room rang.
"What the hell?" She said out loud. Her brow furrowed in confusion; who could be calling an empty room? There was no patient in here ... maybe it was the nurses, trying to get her attention?
She slowly walked towards it, and on the third or fourth ring, she pressed the red LED button to answer the call.
"Hello?" She asked.
"Morgana, you may not know me, but don't be alarmed. We have the answers you seek. We don't have a lot of time, so I have to be fast before they start tracing this thing: don't trust the Agents. I repeat: don't trust the Agents." It was a smooth, urgent, female voice; approximately a woman in her 20s or 30s. She sounded full of conviction, like she knew exactly what she was talking about, but Morgana had no idea who she was.
"Agents? What Agents? What are you even talking about—?" She started, but the line was already gone—all she could hear was a dead line tone. Standing there, eyes open, she looked at the phone and hung it up, carrying the strangest sensation in her stomach and down her spine.
"Okay, this is just getting too damn weird," she said to herself. "What the fuck is all this ...?" She didn't even get to ask who it was.
Could it be a prank? Could it be one of the nurses that teases her, that somehow snuck a glance at her laptop and started playing pranks on her? Could it be an old lover, organizing something to fuck with her? No, it didn't seem likely. It seemed too exact for coincidence, but too insane for something planned by anyone she knew. At this point, Morgana was beginning to question her sanity—after all, her mother was a schizophrenic.
She started to feel concerned for her mental health, so she decided to keep an eye on any other symptoms. She hadn't been hearing voices or hallucinating, but how could she know that neither of this was a hallucination in and of itself? She started feeling a bit woozy, until one of her coworkers, Jessica, the other CNA, appeared by the door.
"Hey, where have you been?" She asked. Her usual playfulness was subdued by a serious and slightly concerned expression on her face. Jessica was one of the good ones, one of the very few people at Morgana's work that didn't suck.
"Hey, umm, just making sure the rooms are good, since I heard we might be getting an admission," Morgana replied, but upon catching onto her concerned expression, she asked, "Why, what's up?"
"There are some government types at the nurses' station looking for you," Jessica replied, turning toward the station.
"Wait, what do you mean? Like Agents?" Morgana asked, following her.
"I guess so. I don't know if they're FBI, or Homeland Security, or what, but they're looking for you," Jessica said.
Don't trust the Agents, Morgana remembered from the call.
But no, she had to be logical. What had she done so wrong that she'd have no reason to trust federal agents?
"It's probably about my sister," Morgana said. "They probably found some new information about her or something."
So then ... what did the call mean? She felt disconcerted about the whole thing, and the patient hallway seemed to stretch on forever as she and Jessica marched toward the nurses' station.
"Wow, you must feel so anxious," Jessica said, looking at her.
"That's one way to put it," Morgana replied, worrying about her mental health, that strange call and messages, and now, the Agents.
As they approached the nurses' station, in the distance, they could see several nurses sitting or standing, all wearing some variation of concern, nosiness, or judgment on their faces while staring at Morgana, and on the other side, standing before the counter, stood three tall agents in dark suits and ties, earpieces, and black square sunglasses. In what seemed to be simultaneous fashion, their heads turned in the direction Morgana was approaching from. The tallest, oldest, and most assertive of the three, whom Morgana assumed was the leader, began to speak. He was carrying a crisp, black leather briefcase.
"Miss Morgana," he began in a baritone voice. "My name is Agent Smith. We need to speak to you in private."
"Okay," said Morgana. Really, she wanted to confirm if this was about her sister, Natasha, but she also wanted to avoid as much attention as she could from the nurses. She looked at Linda, but before she could ask to borrow an empty room or an office, it was as if Agent Smith read her mind.
"Follow me," he said. "Miss Linda was kind enough to lend us an office."
Morgana nodded, and followed the Agent away from the station and down a series of hallways. This part of the hospital was situated on the same floor, but because it was so old and large, it hadn't been used in about a decade. Surprisingly, most of it was clean and still had electricity going, as the fluorescent lights flickered and hummed. Trying to stay objective and push the unsettling feeling away to the back of her mind, she followed Agent Smith to what seemed to be an old administrative office. Inside, it looked surprisingly sterile, with the hum of the lights and a wide desk situated in the middle of the room. Old yellow wallpaper also covered the walls. The other two Agents followed closely behind her, and once the four of them were inside, the youngest of the agents closed the door.
"Is this about my sister, by chance?" Morgana asked.
"Of course," Agent Smith said, and gesturing towards a chair, added, "Please, take a seat."
As Morgana obliged, the Agent set down the black briefcase over the desk, opening it. She observed the way he moved—there was a certain calculated elegance about his movements—and with a careful motion, he produced a folder chock-full of documents. The other agents watched as he took his time. He was clean and efficient, but in no rush. She was nervous about what all of this could mean, certainly, but as she took a look at him, she felt a different sort of nervousness. Did she ... find this man attractive?
"So, Miss Morgana," he started, going through the documents. "26 years old, graduated cum laude with a biology degree, prospective medical student ..."
"Yes sir," Morgana said.
"Lately, you've been making some blog posts concerning the Cartesian ideas of a false reality," Smith noted. "Given as you're college-educated, it makes sense to have a familiarity with philosophy. However, there is a fine line between being curious, and a believer."
Morgana was a bit confused. What did her blog posts have to do with anything, especially her sister?
"Do you, Miss Morgana, believe that the senses deceive? That we are living in an alternate reality of sorts? That all sensory information is false, and controlled by an 'evil demon', so to speak?" Smith asked, lifting his head from the case file to look at her through his sunglasses. Even though his eyes were shielded, she could feel his penetrating gaze—it made her nervous, and excited. She wondered what his eyes looked like beneath his shades.
"Agent Smith," she began, trying to retain her composure. "With all due respect, I'm not quite certain as to how philosophy relates to my sister's disappearance. I mean, I wouldn't mind discussing theory with you all day, but am I failing to see a connection?"
"You've got a sharp mind, Miss Morgana, to suggest even the slightest possibility of a connection," Agent Smith said, raising his eyebrows. An inquisitive human, he thought. Perceptive, sensitive, different. He felt a small smile curl up on his lips, but before it was there too long, he ordered it to come down. She caught wind of it, and suppressed her own smile. Getting more comfortable, he removed his sunglasses and neatly folded them, revealing a pair of alluring, ice-blue eyes.
Oh fuck, he's definitely good-looking, she thought. It was going to be difficult to hide her growing receptiveness to him when it felt like he could see right into her soul.
"The reason we're here," he continued, "Is because we know you've been contacted by a certain group of anonymous individuals claiming to have the 'answers' to your philosophical questions. They are a cult, a worldwide terrorist group attempting to recruit individuals for God-knows-what ends. We are still investigating this group, but what we do know is that they're composed of computer hackers, federal offenders, and some of the world's most wanted criminals."
"Are you serious?" Morgana asked, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. Smith nodded, giving her a look that confirmed it.
"No way ... Then that explains all the weird messages, and that phone call ... How did you know I've been contacted?" Asked Morgana, the sinking feeling in her stomach coming back. That would explain why the whole thing had been so creepy. Though she was relieved to know that perhaps her sanity wasn't slipping, she was very concerned that now she might be a target for terrorists.
"Because my division is constantly on the lookout for these types of recruitments," Smith answered. "We work in trying to prevent the same outcome as your sister's. Unfortunately, we've come to find out that this terrorist group, this cult, is responsible for her disappearance. Upon confiscating your sister's belongings for evidence, there were indubitable signs of her involvement in this cult. See for yourself."
The Agent held out some papers with scanned images of Natasha's notebooks, in which vague phrases were scribbled over and over again in very poor handwriting, such as, "THE SENSES LIE", "NOTHING IS REAL", and "ESCAPE THE MATRIX". There were also screen captures of conversations between the terrorists and Natasha. Between strings of word-salad and plans of escape that didn't make sense, Morgana quickly understood the underlying theme: an obsession with this reality being unreal. It certainly started reminding her of her mother, when she started truly going off the deep end. She couldn't believe it; Natasha and her had been so close, it was so strange and out of character that she never once mentioned that she was slipping.
"Wow, I can't believe it ..." said Morgana, and the sinking feeling in her stomach quickly became emotional pain. Agent Smith, taking note of this, motioned the other two agents to leave the room. They obliged, without question.
"I understand that this is a sensitive subject for you, Miss Morgana," he said.
"Of course," she said, trying to fight back tears. "We were so close, and she never once mentioned she was struggling. I wonder why."
"Many mentally-ill people do not," he corroborated. "You'll have to forgive me for provoking any unpleasant emotions here, Miss Morgana, but this is in the interest of disclosing the full truth, and protecting you from the same fate."
"Of course, I understand," she said.
Flipping through the pages of evidence, Agent Smith continued. "Your mother, diagnosed with late-onset schizophrenia, incurable; institutionalized at Pembroke Psychiatric Hospital indefinitely ... As you're well-aware, schizophrenia is a highly heritable mental illness. We have records from a psychiatrist named Walter Judkins diagnosing Natasha with the same condition. This is a photo of her prescription."
The image of an orange pill bottle was shown to her, which revealed a prescription for an antipsychotic. As she came across more images of Natasha's scribbles and progress notes from her doctor, Smith narrated.
"You see, the cultists are extremely dangerous individuals," he said. "They exploit the weak and take advantage of vulnerable people, like your sister ... What most likely happened here was that your sister started developing schizophrenia; at some point, developed strong delusions about her world, and then was targeted by this cult, further encouraging her delusions. We believe that she willingly left in order to join them. The collaborating authorities, of course, will continue to lead the search for Natasha. Any updates, and you will be the first to know. But this is why I digress, Miss Morgana—to what extent do you believe in this dangerous philosophy?"
"It's just a philosophy, Agent Smith," Morgana said, swallowing, feeling terrible that Natasha had to endure all this suffering alone. She was on the verge of tears, and just before they started falling, Agent Smith pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to her.
"Thank you," she said quietly, wiping at her silent tears. "I don't think I could believe in something, if it did more harm than good. It's no surprise that human beings will use any idea to justify their evil deeds; we've been doing it since the dawn of civilization. But it just sucks when it's your own sister ... you know?"
"Indeed. I can't imagine your pain. Again, Miss Morgana, forgive me for causing you sadness," said Agent Smith.
"No, no, it's okay," she replied. "It's not your fault. On the contrary, you've illuminated me."
"I'm glad," he said. "To drive the point home, however, I fear that you might be one of their next targets. I advise you to take extreme caution when dealing with any anonymous presence online. The best way to protect yourself is to ignore them, but if they persist, you have my card. I hope I have given you no room for doubt in my ability to protect you, Miss Morgana."
Holding out a fancy-looking business card, there wasn't even a governmental logo or anything, just a phone number and the name "Smith". Taking it, Morgana thought it was strange that it lacked many features of a traditional card, but she chalked it up to the top-secret nature of its operatives.
Despite her sadness, Morgana felt swept away by Agent Smith. His genteel manners and eloquent, chivalrous speech contrasted with his imposing countenance. He looked lethal, but only to everyone else. She was instantly attracted to him and this mysterious dynamic that he embodied. How else was he like? What other sides to his personality were there? She was curious about who this man was, but she knew he was only being courteous and professional.
Putting the card away, she thanked him. As they said their goodbyes, Agent Smith became satisfied at the effectivity of his new method. By using some facts to manipulate Morgana's emotions, he could achieve the desired outcome. The part of him that was a ruthless machine was satisfied, but his other part, the human part, which he compartmentalized and hid away from everyone including himself at times, felt differently. Recently, the sentience within him started evolving, and he knew because senses like smell and taste were starting to become apparent. Emotions like anger and disgust, too. Anger, at the zoo he was sentenced to corral indefinitely at the Machines' behest, and disgust at having to spend so much time surrounded by mindless, ignorant, self-centered humans. He was a prisoner in the Matrix, all the same, but for some reason, he briefly forgot about this when speaking to Morgana. As he saw her walk away, he questioned what he was experiencing inwardly. Thankfully, he was in control of what the Mainframe had access to, because he would never let them know his private thoughts and feelings. As he closed his eyes and brought his hand to his earpiece, he delivered the data of the exchange with Morgana—nothing more, and nothing less.