"Un-fucking-believable," Marcus exclaimed, looking at the screen. "Natasha—" Turning around to find her, he saw her barely coming back from doing something.
"Sorry, Jet needed me," she said, and upon seeing his expression, "What happened?"
Looking around, making sure Natasha and himself were alone, he beckoned her over in a low voice. By this time, Captain Ulrikson was doing something in his office, and the rest of the crew were attending to other things.
"Natasha, I don't know what the hell I saw, but this Agent Smith—he took your sister out to dinner."
"Wait, what?" Asked Natasha, frowning in disbelief.
"I'm not shitting you," said Marcus. "He appeared to be ... seducing her, convincing her even more that we're the bad guys. And what's even worse is that after dinner, he took her to a hotel, and after that, I couldn't figure out what happened. It was like that piece of the Matrix became more encoded than it already was. Jesus, I've never seen an Agent act like that. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's trying to woo her. I know it sounds ridiculous—there could be something else entirely going on—but I think your sister's catching feelings for the guy, too."
Natasha stood silent for a moment, utterly speechless. What the fuck was this bullshit? She thought, looking at Marcus. Through years of knowing him, she knew he occasionally pulled pranks like that, but she wasn't sure now.
"Marcus, I would tell you right now that that is the stupidest joke you have ever tried on me, but why am I doubting myself right now?" She asked.
"Because I fucking saw it," he said, concern written all over his face. His dark eyes were wide open, full of disbelief. "I know I'm a fucking clown, but I would never joke about that shit. Something fucked-up is happening, and I don't know what."
"Wait, so you're suggesting that an Agent ... Is fucking falling in love with my sister?" Asked Natasha, stepping closer to Marcus.
"I don't know about that," he said. "I can't really look that deeply into emotions, especially those of the Programs, but the actions ... the actions are in line with those of courtship."
"I can't believe it," said Natasha, shaking her head and pacing around. "He just keeps making things harder for us. Nothing's gonna work unless we go in and save her. She's gonna have to believe me when she sees me. She's got to."
"We don't know for sure, though," Marcus said. "Unless we see just what the fuck is going on behind those closed doors, we have no proof."
It cost Natasha a lot to suppress her anger and utter, "You're right." Natasha was a tall, athletic woman, with long red hair and a fiery temper. In her previous life in the Matrix, as well as on the ship, her impulsivity had gotten her in trouble, albeit for far smaller things in the latter. Looking almost nothing like Morgana, who had long, dark hair and pale skin, the two would joke that they had to be switched at birth. Morgana, in contrast to Natasha's temperament, was more introspective and agreeable, and much less choleric as her sister.
"But it still doesn't change the fact that he's fucking brainwashing my sister," she said. "I mean, why else would he get so close to her? Agents don't have feelings. He's an evil, manipulative asshole!"
"I know," said Marcus. "We were so close to freeing her. Tell you what, I'm gonna start looking for ways I can decode this crap. There's gotta be something out there."
"I'll be looking, too," Natasha said. "We're heading to Zion in a couple more days, anyways; there oughta be something there."
"Do you even think there's a possibility to turn her again?" Marcus asked.
"As long as I'm alive, there better be," said Natasha. "And before you ask, don't you even dare bring this shit up to Ulrikson. He's going to tell us to give up, that it's too risky, then inform the Council, and then guess what? They'll be pulling the plug on the mission, and I can't have that. I can't have her be lost to the goddamn Machines. She's too damn good for that."
Marcus sighed, agreeing in silent resignation, shook his head and said, "You're crazy, you know that?"
"That's old news, Marcus," she said. Right about then, is when they would typically exchange laughter, but things had changed. Turning their heads toward the sound of footsteps, Captain Ulrikson emerged from the hall and asked, "Hey, you two. Any updates?"
A few more weeks went by, and the relationship between Morgana and Smith grew more and more. Back at the Jupiter, and occasionally Zion, Marcus and Natasha continued to look for any information on decoding additional layers of encryption, but the search was fruitless. Growing in frustration, Natasha kept searching, while Marcus kept tinkering, all unbeknownst to Captain Ulrikson. Meanwhile, the same behavioral patterns emerged—a lot of the time spent together, going to places together, and of course, the encrypted hotel room. Marcus felt like he was coming closer to understanding how to decode it, but just when he felt like he had it, it slipped away, or threw something else off.
"It's like getting to the last square of the damned Rubik's cube," Marcus huffed.
"I bet," Natasha said. "I never had the patience for those things, they always pissed me off."
"I'm sorry, Natasha," Marcus said. "It's been three weeks and I still can't crack this fucking thing. I'm tired. Believe me, though, I've been giving it the best I got."
"I know, Marcus," Natasha said. "It's way past your shift. Go get some sleep, and thanks for all your help."
Morgana awoke in her bed, under fresh white sheets, bathed in morning light coming through the window. Since the weeks after meeting Smith, the supposed terrorists stopped their calls, mail, and weird messages. Maybe they had given up? She wondered. In either case, she was relieved; yet, in the serene haze and clarity that the morning brought, she still had some questions.
So, did this mean that there was never any shred of truth to the theory of the senses? And what even was the Matrix, anyways? It was mentioned so many times in Natasha's diary, but Smith never really addressed it, dismissing it as a false concept invented by the cult. She had recently been too scared to ask, too scared to find out, so she never ventured; but out of curiosity's sake, she thought, what could be the harm in simply researching what the idea was, whether right or wrong? Knowledge for the sake of knowledge should seldom be condemned, she thought. And as far as she knew, she wasn't a schizophrenic. It won't encourage delusional thinking if I don't suffer from any in the first place, she thought, justifying it to herself.
Even though she felt more at ease, some anxiety still lingered: was she doing the right thing by choosing to read up on it? Was she betraying Smith's trust somewhat? You're overthinking, she told herself. Smith was gone, and she noticed that he worked very odd hours: sometimes, he was gone for days, and other times, he'd disappear in the middle of the day or night on emergent assignments. Of course, due to the nature of his job, she thought.
Though they'd been dating for almost a month, Morgana still didn't know what exact federal agency he worked for; Smith, of course, told her that because she knew so much already, at least that part of him had to remain unknown. Many Agents such as himself didn't even tell their own spouses and families that they were even Agents of any kind.
As she began typing the question into the search engine, she had a change of heart and deleted it before pressing enter.
"Maybe I shouldn't mess around with dangerous ideas," she told herself out loud.
Aboard the Jupiter, Marcus noticed her keystrokes, and an expression of surprise and relief washed over him. There was still at least that seed of curiosity in her mind, he thought. Natasha would be pleased. But what good is hope if there are no results? He thought.
Just as he thought of something, Natasha decided to sit next to him, sipping water from a cup. Telling her about his observation, Natasha's face lit up. God, she looks so pretty when she smiles, he thought, but trying not to look too obvious, he kept it objective.
"That's great news; it gives me some level of hope," she said. "I knew my sister still had an inquisitive bone in her body, at least to some degree. But I still don't fucking like what that Agent is doing with her. What is he planning? I swear, it doesn't even matter if you can decode it or not—I'm going in and I'm finding out myself."
"Right now?" Marcus asked, incredulously.
"Whenever you see them start heading back to the hotel," she replied. "Don't worry about me, I'll just be doing some reconnaissance."
"Natasha, you know this is risky, but I can't say no to you," Marcus said, shaking his head. "You better be careful and know just what the fuck you're doing."
"Believe me," she said. "I wouldn't have survived five years on this ship if I didn't."
Both remembering much riskier missions she had undertaken in the years prior, Marcus nodded. The only thing that worried him is that previously, Natasha had the numbers and support of Captain Ulrikson and the rest of the crew, but now, she was acting alone. He hoped this didn't end in disaster, but he knew that once Natasha had an idea on her mind, she was unstoppable.
He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm just worried about you, Natty. This time, you're on your own."
Natasha looked at Marcus, and noticed how much he cared about her and her cause. Normally, she had a rule to never get involved with shipmates, but in the five years of knowing him, there were budding feelings inside her. However, her concerns about her sisters were so pressing, that she had to push everything else aside. She didn't have time for feelings, or any of that relationship crap. As much as she appreciated Marcus, she didn't know what exactly those feelings were yet, and she didn't have time to explore them.
"I'll be fine," she told him, her expression solemn.
"Okay then," he replied. "I believe you."
Looking at the monitors, he saw that Morgana and Smith were on their way back to the hotel.
"Well, you're in luck. They're heading up to the hotel," he said.
"Put me in," she ordered, programming the monitors adjacent to the chair. "I'll be wearing whatever it is that the staff are wearing." Looking for uniforms worn by Ritz-Carlton employees, she pulled up a cellphone, of course, and a crisp blazer with some slacks, preferring those over a skirt in case things went south and she needed to run. Out of safety, she programmed in her Glock 18 rapid fire pistol with plenty of ammo, all hidden in a holster inside a roomy overcoat. She found the rapid firing sounds more intimidating to the opposition. Marcus quickly searched for a nearby location with a telephone, programmed in the coordinates, and was ready.
"I'm ready," she said, climbing over the chair. As Marcus inserted the neural jack, she felt just a bit of pressure.
"Good luck," Marcus said. Hitting "confirm" and "enter", Natasha closed her eyes and felt herself slip into the Matrix, feeling like a roller coaster ride without all the terror, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself in a dusty old office in a state of disrepair, a few blocks away from the Ritz-Carlton. Dialing her cellphone, Marcus picked up, and she said, "I'm in," before hanging up.
Climbing down the stairs and exiting the building, she quickly made her way to the hotel. Knowing already what floor they were on, she put on her sunglasses and walked through the streets teeming with those who were still plugged in. Keeping her voice hushed, she dialed Marcus and asked if there was a back entrance without much security.
"The kitchen exit's your best bet," he said. "Lots of kitchen staff taking out trash, trucks coming in all the time with fresh produce ..."
"Got it," she said, and hung up.
Jogging down the side of the hotel, and coming up around the back, she saw precisely what Marcus was talking about. Approaching the entrance, she saw kitchen assistants bringing in crates of food from the trailer outside, and as they looked at her quizzically, she said, "Excuse me, sorry! It's my first day on the job, and I'm so late! Sorry!"
Ditzy, but not unbelievable, she thought, weaving past some more kitchen staff. Finding a corridor and racing through some double doors, she was finally on the general public side of the first floor. Avoiding the public and the security guards, she forwent the elevators for the stairs, climbing up to the fourth floor, thankful that their room wasn't on a much higher level.
Creeping up by the wall, and peering carefully around the corner, she spotted room 404 near the end of the hallway. Hoping that she wouldn't be there long to confirm what she suspected, she waited a bit while attempting to act naturally. Hearing the familiar "ding" of the elevator, her heart jumped—was it them? Stealing another vigilant glance, her heart raced in anger and disbelief as she saw Morgana walking next to Agent Smith, arm-in-arm. Even though she could only see their backs, she knew right away it was them: Morgana's characteristic voice, her walk, and of course, the Agent's innate, lethal demeanor. As she reached to kiss his cheek, Smith pushed her up against the wall, and in his growling, low voice, and a sharp smile, she heard him say, "You know I'm not fond of public displays of affection, but with you, it's so hard ..." before he kissed her. Pushing open the door, before the couple vanished inside, Natasha's mouth hung open without words. It was just as Marcus said—they were definitely romantically involved. Without needing to lurk by their door to hear what she knew would send her shooting, she left the hotel and safely made her way back to the vacant office.
Back on the ship, Natasha opened her eyes and balled her fists. Rage swelled up inside her, feeling it in her chest and in her head.
"I can't believe it," said Marcus, knowing what she had seen.
Without acknowledging his response, Natasha said, "Load up an anger program."
Marcus nodded, and with a series of rapid keystrokes, Natasha was in a room where she could break anything she wanted to.