Aboard the Jupiter, a large hovercraft belonging to Zion, Marcus, the Operator, groaned and slammed his first on the desk. He had been "reading the rain" for the past couple of hours, tasked by the Captain to report back on Morgana's developments. Beside him, the figure of Natasha stared intently at the monitor, and then at him.
"Damn it!" Marcus exclaimed. "That Agent's got her, Natasha."
"Got her? What do you mean?" Natasha asked, alarmed.
"No, not that way," Marcus said. "Sorry—what I mean is that he's got her convinced: convinced that we are the enemy, and that he's fucking Superman. He did a pretty fuckin' fantastic job at twisting everything in his avail to make us look bad, and make you look crazy."
"Damnit," said Natasha, with defeat in her voice. "We have to be more aggressive; we have to be even more convincing than Smith. I'll go into the goddamn Matrix if I have to."
"I do not recommend such an approach," said a deeper, male voice—the voice of Captain Ulrikson. As Natasha and Marcus turned around to face him, he continued. "She's already afraid; any sudden or aggressive move on our behalf will only turn her away even more. We might actually lose her forever, if we're not careful. Unfortunately, that Agent did a damn good job at covering his bases."
"Not every base," said Natasha, defiantly. She wasn't going to let some Agent convince her younger sister of some bullcrap.
"Do you have any better ideas, Natasha?" Asked Captain Ulrikson.
Natasha thought hard. "I could call her," she said. "I could come for her."
"Do you understand that, in order for a mind to be freed, it has to be willing?" asked the Captain. "She won't take the red pill if she mistrusts us, or doubts her own sanity. She might not even think you're real, and that she's hallucinating. Forgive me, Natasha, but I cannot take the risk of freeing her, until we're more certain that she stands with us. After all, freeing someone is still a risky endeavor, and some of us have died undertaking such missions as it is. We'll continue throwing dog whistles at her, but it's not guaranteed for now."
Natasha sighed in frustration, shaking her head. "I don't know, there's just gotta be something else we can do."
"In the time that it takes us all to come up with better ideas, be assured, Natasha, that no harm will come to her as long as she plays nice with the Agent. Your sister's a smart girl. I'm sure she won't endanger herself unnecessarily," the Captain said.
"Let us hope," Natasha said. "I don't know, I just don't like this. It's made the task so much more difficult. How the hell are we supposed to convince her otherwise now?"
"We'll figure it out. Patience, Natasha. I know that it's frustrating as hell watching someone you love not know any better, but trust me. She'll come back around," said Captain Ulrikson.
"Let us hope," Natasha said. "I need a drink. Let's go, Marcus."
After a couple more days of work, Morgana finally had some days off to relax. She had been so put off by what transpired, that she hadn't even visited the blog. Trying to find some other way to distract herself, she listened to music, watched TV, and went out to do some shopping, but nothing really calmed the restlessness she felt.
After all these years, she wondered if Natasha was even alive. Most people would give up, but there had been cases of lost individuals having been found after decades or so. Suddenly, her mind drifted to Agent Smith. She wondered who the enigmatic agent was, and then remembered that she had kept his handkerchief. Eagerly running to retrieve it from her purse, she passed the luxurious white fabric between her fingers. In a corner, the letter "S" was embossed in cursive. For whatever reason, she brought it up to her nose, and was pleasantly greeted by the scent of men's cologne—it smelled strong, yet sweet, and a little bit woodsy.
Wow, she thought. He smells so good ... Unfortunately, that was probably the last time I saw him, unless something goes terribly wrong ...
Standing outside her apartment yet again, Agent Smith managed to see her through the cracks of the blinds at the windows, even from a couple of feet away. This was one of the innumerable benefits of being an Agent—enhanced senses, reflexes, speed, and strength, and of course, the masses' unquestioning support. He was required by the Mainframe to report on Morgana following his prior interaction, so he stood, observing for any suspicious activity. However, when nothing important was noticed, the logical reaction was to upload to the Mainframe and leave, but oddly, he found himself not wanting to do that.
Observing her through the cracks, a strange feeling swept over him, something he had never felt before. What was this pleasant sensation, this longing to be close to someone? Yes, it was something the humans referred to as "attraction", he thought. Pretty soon, he started coming up with ideas to be in her vicinity more often. Even though he wasn't supposed to be noticed, maybe he wanted to be noticed.
"Time to check the mail," Morgana said to herself, and with a sigh, grabbed the mail keys and went outside. As Smith caught wind of her movements, he hid behind another building, looking at her.
Morgana, having retrieved the mail and turning back home, scanned the area, making sure no one was there. Could she be growing paranoid? She had a vague feeling as if someone had been watching her, but seeing as no one was around, she thought that perhaps she was starting to let this cult stuff get to her head.
"Just relax, Morgana," she told herself, and walked back inside.
The correspondence was mostly bills and offers, nothing important, until she saw an envelope with no return address. Her heart stopped for a bit—what if it was the terrorists? She wasn't sure if she should open it or not, but the curiosity got the better of her. Ripping it open, she pulled out a sheet of paper that appeared to be a scan—a page of Natasha's diary, no less. She had written, "The men in black are watching ... they persecute, they track, they deceive. Everyone that gets followed by them either dies or disappears. They are part of the Matrix."
The "Matrix". That was the second time that word had come up in Natasha's diary, so what could it mean? But more importantly, who sent this, and how did they get access to her diary? Again, another warning about the Agents. Should she even take it seriously? The Agents were just doing their jobs, and had given her more answers than anybody else. Feeling again anxious, she dropped the letter to the table and felt her hands shake and stomach knot. Whoever was contacting her knew where she lived, where she worked, and they somehow had Natasha's diary, or a copy thereof. Trepidation sank in as she realized that it was most likely the terrorists doing this to her. She didn't know whether to call Smith or not; she was certainly afraid, yes, but was there objectively, any credibility in the message? Why was she being warned about the Agents yet again? And more importantly, did Natasha know about the Agents? If so, then someone was trying to send a message that Natasha knew all along, and that perhaps, she was alive? Morgana tried to soothe her queasy stomach and racing mind by getting up and pacing, but she didn't know what to do.
As Smith returned to observing her, he saw that she was feeling anxious. He had taken note of the correspondence that she read, which, based on her reaction, seemed likely to be from the Resistance.
They don't give up, do they? He thought in anger. I will make sure they fail. If I can't get out, then no one can get out. Deciding to intervene, he knocked on her door.
Morgana, her heart almost skipping a beat, gasped as she heard someone knocking on the door. Approaching it slowly, she quietly looked through the peephole, only to find ... Agent Smith?
Instantly, her face flushed, and the feelings of anxiety seemed to wither away, however, not completely. Opening the door, she said, "Oh, hello, Agent Smith. What are you doing here?"
"Good evening, Miss Morgana. I was around the area, and decided to check up on you," he said. "Do you mind if I come in?"
"Not at all, but my apartment's so messy right now," she said, ashamed of herself.
"I assure you, I don't mind," he said, removing his sunglasses and neatly folding them away. This time, he also removed his earpiece.
"Ugh, I feel so embarrassed," Morgana confessed.
"I understand," Smith said. "So what if I propose meeting you somewhere else, say, a restaurant?"
Morgana could scarcely believe it herself—was Agent Smith asking her on a date? No, no—he just wanted to talk about the case, she reminded herself.
"Agent Smith," she hesitantly asked, trying to fight off a wide, stupid grin. "You do realize that it comes off as ..." she trailed off, hesitant to say it.
"As a date?" He finished for her, his blue eyes locking into hers.
"Yes," she said, laughing nervously. God, she killed to say "yes", but maybe this wasn't where he was meaning to go at all, and maybe she should've just kept her mouth shut. Oh god, this could make me feel like the stupidest person alive right now, she thought.
"And what if it were?" He asked, stepping closer to the door, his eyes locked onto hers. It was only when he was this close that she could admire his full height—at 6'2" and she at 5'7", he towered over her somewhat, and it intimidated yet excited her. As he said this, her heart raced and she felt flushed around the cheeks. Biting her lower lip, she uttered a nervous laugh, and began to get aroused at just standing so close to him and picking up on his cologne. As he looked down at her, he felt excitement between his legs quickly reflecting what he was feeling in his chest and face. An electrifying sensation swept over him, and he knew this was radically different than anything in his programming; it called to him on a level that was deeper than he understood.
"Then I would say yes," Morgana said. Smith gave her a sharp smile, and she finally couldn't hold her awe and enthusiasm for him for him any longer, smiling in return.
"Good. Shall I pick you up in about an hour?" Smith asked.
"Yeah," she said. "Did you have some place in mind?"
"Le Chasseur. It's only a couple of minutes away."
"Wait, that fancy place?" Asked Morgana incredulously. "I'm going to be honest, Agent Smith. Does it look like I can pay for gourmet French food?"
"You won't need to," he said. "Consider it my treat."
"No, no way," she insisted, laughing. "You're not serious, are you?"
"Miss Morgana, when I say the words 'my treat', I mean it. I know you feel compelled to dance to the moral beat of modesty, or perhaps, you truly do feel bad at letting me foot the bill, but if I tell you not to worry about it, do not. I'll have you know that I never take no for an answer. So, don't worry about it," Smith said, another sharp smile curling up on his lips.
God, he was so cool, she thought. So eloquent, assertive and intelligent ... it was as if nothing fazed him, like he had the situation under control at all times. His honesty and directness was so refreshing in a contrived world, with contrived people, and contrived interactions. She absolutely wanted him.
"If you insist," Morgana said, giving him a look that was brimming with desire. Smith caught onto this, and something inside him stirred with more intensity.
"See you in an hour, Miss Morgana," said Agent Smith.
"As you wish," she said. "See you then."
While Morgana carried on excitedly, feeling like she was flying while getting ready, a corner of Smith's lips smiled triumphantly. Putting his sunglasses and earpiece back on, he was back to full Agent mode. This was working almost too well, he thought with satisfaction. The Mainframe would be pleased to hear about his progress: an elaborate ruse to subvert Morgana's desire to leave the Matrix by instilling fear, while appearing to be her protector. He was the terrorist, he realized, but it was his job. Though this was an unconventional approach, it seemed to be the most effective one yet. He wondered why he didn't attempt this on the other female Potentials, but he felt no need to—he felt repulsed by it, even. For some reason, Morgana was the only female subject that drove him to do this, because as much as he was defending the Matrix, he was also deriving some sort of personal pleasure from being near her. This was the part that Smith omitted from his reports to the Mainframe, as well as his growing hatred of being trapped in the Matrix with the rest of the zoo.
Morgana was almost ready, dressed in the most elegant dress and heels she could find, and while trying to calm her racing heart down from excitement, her thoughts went back to the strange correspondence she had received earlier, warning her about the "men in black". Was this a message about the Agents again, or some other men? Also, what did it mean by them being "part of the Matrix?" She had so many questions, and not nearly as many answers. She hoped Agent Smith could put her worries to rest again, and while she was fixing up her earrings in the mirror, she looked at her face and realized that she didn't know whether she was frightened or excited.