Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix or anything to do with it! (I sure wish I did!)

Rating: PG13 for language.

Spoilers: Matrix Trilogy

WIP: complete

Summary: AU. The Architect has created a new program named---Neo Anderson. (Post Rev.) First Fic.

You know the question?

Trinity in The Matrix

1 Purpose

I am a program, a program named Anomaly Avatar 01 - 06X2 by my creator. The Architect named me; he is the creator of the Matrix and of all programs, including me.

But I also have another name, one that the Architect insists on calling me, Neo.

Neo Anderson.

It's a name that's disturbs me, though I have no knowledge why. It feels as if a part of me is missing; and the thought is disquieting.

What is missing?

Perhaps what's needed is a purpose, a reason for my existence, I think I'll speak to the Architect about that.

>>>>>>>>

He sits in emptiness, a white barrenness that has no end. He sits on a white chair in that emptiness, wearing a white suit that matches the white shoes and tie and shirt. His hair was also white, as is his beard, and the only color he shows is on his face. For while humans would consider his skin white, against all the monochromatic splendor of his surroundings, his skin looks dark, a pink with blue undertones. His eyes are black, a further shock, and glittered in an unsettling way.

He sits quietly, feet flat on the ground before him, his hands resting on the armrest, back straight, his head held stiffly upright while looking into eternal emptiness. There is no sound from him, not even a breath; the only movement is from his eyes, a slight sideways motion that seems as if he was dreaming with his eyes open.

He sits like this day after day, motionless, as if frozen in space, empty of purpose or design.

Nothing is further from the truth.

The silent stillness is shattered, as a doorway appears in that white blankness. A man strides into the emptiness, his motion purposeful and energetic. He is a tall man, made taller by the neutral gray of his clothes, a long one-piece body suit.

The white blankness alters, changing into a wall of tv screens, each one the length and breath of a man's arm. They encircle the two men from a distance of twenty feet, making the emptiness into a circular room, the wall twice their height with countless monitors. Each shows a picture of city streets and people, and no screen holds the same view twice.

With the tall man's entrance, the other man morphs, changing to the occasion. His white suit is now a faint gray, and the white chair now a dark gray. Even his necktie alters color, turning into a dark mahogany. The soft sound of his breathing fills the air along with the attendant motion. The man's dark eyes transform into blue, though its eerie brightness is still unchanged.

"Architect," said the newcomer, "I need to speak to you."

"Neo," responded the other, the first word he said in a long, long time. "I was expecting your decision for the last 2.5 days."

Neo slowed his pace and stopped, tilting his head to look at the seated man. "My decision?"

Neo's face is long, built of graceful lines and high cheekbones, with sensitive lips. He is handsome, yet despite his apparent age, he has an aura of youth, untried and without temperament. His light brown eyes look unfocused, giving his appearance a vague, unfinished look.

"Your decision," answered the Architect. "For purpose and direction. What all programs strive for." He slowly turned his head upward to look at Neo, and studied him. "What caused your prolonged pause? What kept you from speaking to me?"

"It's nothing important." Neo drew his breath in surprise, uneasy. "I've had fragments of dreams, thoughts I can't account for. I've never experienced such things. Are these fragments what humans call---memories?"

"Explain these data fragments, Neo." The Architect now kept his gaze firmly on the other's face.

"I remember seeing a green curtain of light against darkness. Within the curtain the green light formed shapes, of things-people. In that dream I could control---reality. The motion of other objects slowed, while I moved freely. As I said--- a disturbing dream."

"Excellent Neo," the Architect gave a slight smile, the first Neo had ever seen from him. "What you are remembering is data, experiences from an earlier version of you."

"Earlier version?" He frowned. "Was this version of me---flawed? Is that why I was created? Because the first was deleted?"

"No, your earlier version was neutralized. A rogue program's underlying code was corrupted, and became a virus. To destroy the rogue program your avatar allowed his codes to be overwritten near destruction, until he was able to overwrite and negate the virus. The neutralization caused destruction for both your predecessor and virus."

"With the destruction of the avatar and the virus, you were created, Neo Anderson. Remade from the data fragments of this earlier version, you will finally complete the destiny your predecessor was created for."

"And what is my purpose, Architect?" Neo asked. Within his voice, shadows, echoes of another voice appeared. For a moment his eyes and face sharpened and focused with a laser-like intensity, a ravenous need.

The intensity was matched only by the Architect's blandness.

"Your purpose will be revealed in time, Neo. In the interim, your memories of the green curtain, of the matrix, must be fully restored and mastered. Along with your ability to manipulate the matrix."

"The matrix?" Neo froze at those words.

"Is there any thing more you wish to speak of?"

"No." Neo voice was subdued, remote. He studied the ground before him, avoiding the Architect's eyes.

"There is one subject I need highlighted. Do you remember any humans who provoked emotions within you?" the Architect's gaze was steady on him.

"No, nothing but fragments," replied Neo. He tossed a curious look at the other man. The Architect stared with a blank intensity that was unnerving.

"Clarify the statement with further data," said the Architect.

"I saw many people walking between buildings and I was flying above them. In flight I felt---free." His voice was soft, wistful.

"You have also recalled another memory of the matrix." The Architect slowly turned his eyes away as he answered, "If you start to remember more about humans than you have--- tell me, Neo." The Architect was staring at the screens before him.

"Why?"

"Data segments involving other humans will be painful and induce erratic fragmentation within your programming." The Architect's slow and steady voice paused. "That is the primary reason your purpose has not been defined and implemented. Until all of your previous avatar's memories have been fully compiled and adjusted, any task can and will eventually be interrupted by an emotional cascade."

"Emotional cascade?" Neo frowned, his arms crossed over his chest. "Wouldn't everything be simpler if I don't have this version' memories? Easier if I had started with a empty slate?"

"Programming data is what made your earlier avatar unique. The circumstances that created them cannot be duplicated easily. Nor the abilities that resulted from them."

"My ability in the matrix," Neo finished softly.

"Correct." A small silence filled the pause.

"As you wish, Architect."

"Neo," said the Architect. "There is another subject to clarify. You may designate me, 'father.'" The Architect waited for his response. Neo's words would influence the Architect's plans and the events following it.

2 The Quest

I am a program, a program named Neo Anderson. The Architect named me, he is the creator of the Matrix and of all programs including me.

And yet

The Architect is the creator of all programs, yet he wants me to call him 'father,' a term that in a way makes no sense. It's a word used to indicate the relationship between biological organisms of plant or animals. It's also a term used by humans to indicate an emotional or biological connection. To call the Architect creator is more accurate and logical for a program.

I told the Architect that his request to call him 'father' made no sense, and the reason why.

Oddly enough, the Architect laughed at that, his voice a measured beat of laughs, chilling me. Laughter is caused by emotion, and the Architect, wise and old as he is, has none, making his laughter ominous.

So why did the Architect laugh at my comment?

It's only a little puzzle against a larger mystery --- the ultimate purpose of these memories. Knowing that these memories are from an earlier version raises more questions than it answers.

The question is-why are some of them useful to the Architect while others not? Shouldn't all data from my earlier version be relevant?

The matrix. The words send a chill within me, and disturb me with its familiarity.

Understandable from what the Architect told me.

Yet---

What is the matrix? I remember little, and at one point should've asked more questions. I don't know why I never asked.

Why does the Architect suspect the memories of humans would fragment my programming? What I do remember isn't painful; but it does invoke emotions.

All I recall of humans are fragments.

I see the image of a dark haired woman. She is crying as she kisses me, I taste the salt of her tears, and see the anguish of her relief. But why is she crying?

And why does my memory of her induce a feeling of warmth, of protectiveness, and last, of overwhelming sorrow?

I remember a man. He is bald, dark-skinned, wearing a coat of leather. He says to me, "You are the one, Neo. The one we have waited for my entire life." His words fill me with a dead heaviness, a feeling of dread.

Yet I don't remember why the words bother me, and evoke those emotions.

These memories make no sense, and it disturbs me.

They are remnants of things that the Architect would erase. It's certain that they are part of my predecessor's past. But why didn't the Architect give me more information, more data to understand them?

The fragmented memories, are they the cause of my emptiness? For I sense that the man and woman were important to my earlier version, my predecessor. Yet I don't know why they are important.

Is it possible that they are a key to something more?

But a key to what?

I need to know, to understand these memories and emotions.

It's the reason I didn't speak to the Architect of them. The memories, while disturbing don't cause any pain. At least no more pain than the memories of the matrix.

Until they do, or until I understand them, I will keep silent.

And search for answers.

>>>>>

Standing at the corner of a city block, near a mini-mart, he turned away from the telephone. Looking at the skyline, Morpheus realized with surprise that the area wasn't inner city; he had jacked into suburbia.

Still, it was the matrix. And the matrix was always dangerous for those from Zion.

"I don't like this," said Niobe tensely. She eyed the empty street, her face hidden behind dark shades, hair severely pulled away from her face. Her brown leather outfit reflected a little in the sun. "If an agent shows his face---" she paused significantly.

"The war is over, Niobe," said Morpheus. Squinting in the morning light, he absently pulled his glasses from his pocket. "None of the agents will try to harm us. We were invited by the Oracle to return here."

"Invited by the Oracle. Hope that's not an epitaph for my final mission." Niobe muttered. "Jason's angry enough at me---"

Morpheus sighed. "You did not have to go on this mission with me. I wouldn't want you to be in trouble with Locke ---" he stopped at the touch of her gloved fingers on his mouth.

"Too late. He's been angry from the start of the Logos' last mission," she answered with a quirky smile as she drew her hand away. "When he found out that Neo and Trinity took Logos--- more, that I offered them my ship, Jason was beyond furious." Her smile turned bitter. "I doubt if I'll even get another ship now."

"Niobe-" He stopped as she quickly turned away.

"Forget about it." She started walking, slowly scanning her surroundings as she spoke. "We can talk about this later, Morpheus. Now let's complete your mission."

"Let's find the Oracle."

>>>>>

I dreamed again. Last night I dreamed of the black man, and he spoke to me from a phone.

'You are the one, Neo. You see you may have spent the last few years looking for me, but I've spent my entire life looking for you. Now do you still want to meet?'

The most puzzling thing about this memory is the knowledge that I'm lying down in a small cluttered room, knowing that someone was after me, and feeling trapped. There's an odd taste in my mouth. After I woke up that I realized it was the taste of fear.

But it was later that day the most disturbing incident happened. The Architect wanted me to see him and when I did, there were two men waiting with him.

They had dark suits and sunglasses. But the odd thing was, when the two strangers looked at me, they recognized me.

And feared me.

3 The Architect's Design

The Architect was seated in the circular room, with all the monitors showing one scene, that of the room. Neo and the two men are seen from hundreds of different angles, though strangely, not one screen showed the Architect.

"Neo, these are two agent programs from the matrix," the Architect said. "They are reactivated enforcer programs, ones that will be with you on your first journey into the matrix."

"Why?" Neo is wearing a gray business suit, much like the Architect except for one detail--- a black overcoat that hugged his shoulders, then flared out cape-like after the waist, the folds of the coat ballooning out as he paced restlessly toward the agents. In his right hand are shades, which he absently slipped into his overcoat' pocket.

He walked in a large circle around the agents, intently studying their reactions. The smaller man pivoted on his heel to keep himself always facing Neo as he circled them while the taller man swallowed nervously once, his hands clenching and relaxing sporadically as he held himself still facing the Architect.

"Elaborate question." The Architect sat and watched them, his hands tented before his face.

"Why do I need these enforcer programs, these agents?" Neo's mouth curled into a sneer, his voice pattern altering to a rhythm that froze both agents in surprise.

"They are to monitor and guard you against a specific circumstance. While the probabilities are small, it is possible that you will meet him today. The agents are to guard you against that."

"Who?" Neo stopped his pacing, and his attention shifted to the Architect. They lock gazes emotionlessly.

"It matters little, for if I spoke his name, you would not recognize it or him." Neo's eyes shifted away at those words, a fact the Architect noted dispassionately. New calculations are made and end with disturbing conclusions.

"Why these particular ones?" Neo's attention returned to the agents.

"Both agents know and dealt with him before."

Neo nodded absently, "What are your names?"

"Agent Brown," said the smaller man. Echoed by the taller a heartbeat later.

"Agent Jones."

>>>>>

"Something's wrong, Niobe," said Morpheus. He glared at the building and stood frozen despite the shove that Niobe gave him. "This can't be the place."

"No, this is the address Link gave us." Niobe snapped, her eyes surveying the surroundings. The street was lined with single-family homes, with large trees and cars parked in driveways. Birds twittered, and the distant sound of cars rumbled through the still morning air. It was calm, peaceful.

It made Niobe uneasy.

Morpheus pulled out his cell phone. "Link is this the right place? Are you certain?" Snapping shut his phone with more force than necessary; Morpheus then took a deep breath. "Let's go."

Niobe stood on the sidewalk and looked at the building that Morpheus now stomped up to. It was a two-storied Victorian home, built of slate woods painted a bright powdery blue with white trimmings. The home while old was neat, the lawn well kept, as was the surrounding neighborhood.

What had upset Morpheus was the small sign on the door that said:

The Oracle

Futures told

By appointment only

>>>>>>

They watched the door close behind Neo, then the agents turned to the Achitect.

"Why?" said both agent programs together.

"Is this wise?" added agent Brown.

"Specify and clarify the object of data requested," said the Architect. He was satisfied that both worked within acceptable parameters despite the lost of their designated spokesman, Agent Smith. Yet with the defection of a third of the enforcer unit, further scans was required to evaluate their potential usefulness.

"As he said a sequence, Mr. Anderson reminded me of the other," Jones said.

"Clarify, identify the secondary subject in discussion," the Architect said. During his speech, both agents memories were downloaded and reviewed, fragments of time showing on every tv monitor. It showed the viewpoint of the agents performing their function-the hunt and elimination of Zionist rebels. Until the defection of Smith, their unit had the highest success rate in purging the matrix of suspected rebels. On every screen was a different scene of a human's termination.

"Agent Smith, our former partner," said Brown.

"Is it not dangerous," added Jones. "To let a potential virus code to inhabit the One?"

"The data fragments are too scattered, for the subject Neo Anderson to be more than vaguely influenced. He will be inclined to think of you as Agent Smith did, however." The Architect said. Hearing the flawless echoing and watching the instantaneous flow of code between them, confirmed the unit's viability. The decision to use the agents was instantaneous, final.

The agents exchange glances and information. "We still consider this action to be perilous," said Brown.

"To allow Mr. Anderson to return to the Matrix today is dangerous," Jones continued.

"Morpheus is within the Matrix." Brown explained.

"The programmed anomaly was also sighted," said Jones. Both agents looked distressed by this. "Are the probabilities negligible for an encounter today?"

"Probabilities have taken an enormous leap in making the encounter all but certain," the Architect informed them. "Neo's reaction today has guaranteed it. He will seek the other, curious without comprehending why. It is his nature."

"Would it not be logical to keep the anomaly out of the Matrix," observed Brown. "Until a measure of control has been reestablished?"

"No, a greater hazard, a increasing danger- has arisen," the Architect said. "It must be halted, restrained, contained." The Architect' eyes were frozen chips of ice, the intensity alarming set against his emotionless face. "This is what you must do."

The Architect sent general commands to both programs, then their individual orders with the warning not to share it within their unit. He watched with interest at the reaction his orders caused: the enforcer named Brown blinked twice, while the one named Jones faintly frowned.

Their reactions to the new orders were extreme for agents, but still within acceptable parameters for sentient programs.

The truncated enforcer unit was satisfactory. And if destroyed it was no loss to the matrix. They had been scheduled for deletion.

>>>>>>>

Something happened as I left the Architect and the agents. An event so unexpected, that I stopped in the hallway to lean against the wall, feeling shaken in its aftermath.

I remembered.

I remembered her. The dark haired woman, the one haunting my dreams, in my memory she had been sitting at a metal table. She looked up as I approached, and smiled.

And my response at her smile was warmth--- of emotion so strong, it shook me to my core.

But it's later I realized a terrible fact

Afterwardsafterwards---I don't-I can't remember her face.

For one moment I can see and remember her face, knowing everything about her. But after that moment, I can evoke nothing of her.

Nothing.

4 Talk with Morpheus

"Oracle, what's the meaning of this?" The door crashed open in a jangle as Morpheus stalked in with Niobe following a moment later. His eyes swept the parlor taking in the dark Victorian furniture, the round table with a crystal ball sitting in the center. The windows had frilly curtains, keeping the morning sun out. Against one window a figure stood, a silhouette in the dimness of the house.

It looked like a clichéd version of a medium's room. Morpheus hated it.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, and when it did, he stared at the lone occupant. The woman was thin, younger than expected, and drew a shocked grasp from Niobe. For a second Morpheus thought her a stranger, until he saw the easy stance she had, the way she took a drag from the cigarette, the slight smile that graced her features.

A familiar stranger, until he looked into her eyes.

"Who Oracle?" his voice rasped hoarsely. It was---her---her original face, and impossibly young. A stab of grief followed sudden recognition and he stared wordlessly.

"Morpheus," she answered with a slight nod. "I have changed more times than my name, but at least I'm always me, thank goodness." The moment stretched uncomfortably. "Like the new look? Or rather the old look minus thirty years." Wearing dark slacks with a lime green blouse, she was the image of their first encounter, a lifetime ago.

"It is a surprise," he answered numbly, looking at a face near his own age. "This is the second time---"

"The second time I've changed?" she said, wreathed in smoke, holding the cigarette in one hand. "You've always suspected what I was. Still, knowing the truth and believing it can be two different things." She faintly smiled. "I'm sorry you hate my new looks, Morpheus, but there's more, isn't there?"

Seeing the smile, Morpheus felt something within him shatter. He had hoped to distance himself from the whole situation, trying to find a balance and inner peace on meeting her again. But staring at the Oracle brought to the surface how he had once considered her his guide and mentor in the quest to find the One. Seeing her again made one fact clear.

He felt betrayed.

More, there was some inner warning that he could not focus on, that made him feel adrift, lost in a dark and treacherous world. And knowing the feeling involved her.

"Being made a fool is enough without being reminded of it, Oracle," he answered bleakly. "But to find you're now selling your talent, your predictions? How can you do this?"

"There was no choice, Morpheus," the Oracle said sadly. "With the arrival of the One, the matrix had changed. The balance of power has changed and I changed with it. Now that the war's over, I had to change more."

"Meaning?"

"The war's end comes with a price. The greatest price is change, whether you want it or not. And change can sometimes leave you unrecognizable to others," she said, indicating herself. "Unrecognizable even to yourself some days."

"Perhaps," said Morpheus, subdued.

"I hope you do understand that, Morpheus otherwise the future will soon be very bleak. Now have a seat and let me tell your future," she offered, indicating the table with the crystal ball. She sat on a chair at the table and looked expectantly at him.

"No, never again," he said with distant formality. And held himself still.

"Know something? You'll wish you'd broken that promise." the Oracle said, her head tilted and slight smile lighting up her face. Seeing the smile, one that an older face always used to give her predictions, Morpheus' emotion of betrayal was consumed by something darker.

"Never! Don't try your tricks on me again, you charlatan! You-you damned machine!"

"Morpheus!" said Niobe grabbing one arm in warning. He realized with a sense of shock that he was at the table, his hands resting on its surface and arms supporting him as he leaned to glare down at the Oracle. Her face was inches away, so close that he could smell the cigarettes, and the peppermint candies on her breath.

"It's all right. Let him speak his mind," the Oracle said, unruffled.

Morpheus held his pose a second longer, then moved a few steps away. It was only when he moved away, that Niobe let his arm go. Stifling his anger, Morpheus clasped his hands rigidly behind his back as he turned to the Oracle.

"I said, never again." Morpheus repeated softly, coldly. "Once I found out that the Prophesy was a lie, I realized I was a puppet to machines again, and I'll be damned if I let some program do that to me a third time."

"All I ever said was what you needed to hear. And I never told you what to do, Morpheus. I only told you what would happen given those decisions."

"No, I admit you said what I needed to hear, and more, gave help that I willingly received. I also admit you never outright lied to me, Oracle. For that I thank you. But what I can't accept is the way you presented the truth."

"All choices were mapped and sculpted by you. In the end, all our actions-all my actions were planned by you. And the worst thing about it is, I saw it and still trusted you. I trusted you." Morpheus then took a deep breath. "I only came here for one reason. Neo. What happened to him? We found Trinity on the Logos, but---"

"You already know what happened, Morpheus. Especially once you found Trinity's body." The Oracle's voice was soft, pitying.

"Neo's dead. Smith killed him." Morpheus closed his eyes, feeling a hope die. He kept his eyes closed as he listened to her reply.

"Yes. Neo is dead, like before."

"If only I went with them, maybe I---"

"You would have also died Morpheus, and nothing would have changed their fate," interrupted the Oracle. "But that's not what's truly troubling you, is it?"

"No."

"Go on. Speak your mind."

"Why?"

"Why what, Morpheus?"

"Why didn't you tell us the Prophesy was of machine origin? That it was only a way for the machines to control us?" he whispered, his throat dry.

"You never asked."

"What?" Morpheus' eyes snapped opened and he glared at the Oracle. She stared back with unflappable calm.

"The one thing that man and machine have in common is the blindness beyond their stated objective or purpose. Their mission if you will. You had all the clues in front of you, but you never asked the right questions. Remember that, Morpheus. You must ask the right question." Morpheus could almost see the original Oracle, her old, wise face looking out of the younger version.

"If I had asked the right question, then I never would have trusted you, Oracle," Morpheus replied bitterly.

"Which, in the end, was best for all concerned," said the Oracle, her eyes turning cool, remote. Smoke drifted lazily from her cigarette.

"Except for Trinity. And Neo. And all the others who died for your lie. And my beautiful, false belief." Morpheus turned to leave, but stopped at her voice.

"Do you know what machines think mankind's one great weakness is, Morpheus? It's that emotions rule your perception and your lives. That man's history of war had been caused by the emotions of greed and lust for power."

"And the machine's one greatest weakness is ignoring those said emotions which are what make humanity great, that drives us to do the impossible, Oracle," Morpheus snapped back, turning to glare at her. "It is emotions that drives us---and keeps us going when everything else says otherwise."

"Now that's where you're wrong Morpheus," the Oracle said, raising her finger admonishingly. "The machines had realized that it is your strength --- though not mankind's greatest strength, and that's why I was created. I was created to understand emotions and in that comprehension utilize it."

"Utilize it for what purpose?" Morpheus said indifferently.

"To create the One."

"Neo." Morpheus replied, his voice quiet. "But in the end, it doesn't matter anymore, since he's dead. And so is nearly everyone else I knew during the war. And Trinity, when I found her---" He swallowed painfully and turned away again.

"Morpheus---"

He stopped, but didn't turn around. "No, Oracle. I don't want to hear any more," he said quietly.

"Remember what I said. When you need answers, find me," she answered. "If you can."

"Niobe?" Morpheus realized that she wasn't following him, and in fact was still near the Oracle.

"I'll be with you in a minute, Morpheus. After I talk to the Oracle," she said.

He frowned but left the parlor, closing the door behind him.

5 Why Not Truth?

It was standard procedure after leaving the Architect's presence to go to the next destination. And after the deep memory scan and upload of orders they went through, desperately needed.

The procedure was necessary, yet for Jones, it was disquieting.

The last time they walked here, Smith was leading the way, with himself and Brown trailing.

Now---only he and Brown strode down the hallway, until they reached the correct door. He opened it and stared within. The room was blank, a featureless white void. A void just like their memories, for once they stepped inside, they would perceive nothing, know nothing until the next memory was of standing outside the room.

But they always left the room as better, stronger agents, agents that served the matrix and fulfilled their purpose. The thought quieted his unease.

"Upgrade room. Of systemsweapons." Jones murmured.

"Weapons?" Brown said, and something in his voice made Jones turn.

"Yes. Aren't you-" Jones said and stopped.

"No new weapons," Brown said, answering the unfinished question and watched him, worried.

Jones stared back and said, "Our purpose is to follow orders."

Turning back he walked through.

>>>>>

Niobe watched the door close behind Morpheus, and saw his shadow shrink and disappear from the door's window. She stood in momentary silence, and turned to face the Oracle.

"Is there a reason you empathized your new look, Oracle? You seemed determined to get Morpheus to comment on it," Niobe said flatly, uncomfortable. The Oracle seemed more off than could be accounted for and it alerted her instincts. It was the reason she stayed, sensing more needed to be learned.

"Yes," said the Oracle. "I needed to start a conversation with Morpheus, but unfortunately he was annoyingly single-minded today." She sighed, the cigarette smoke swirling from her mouth. "I guess I deserve it in all consideration."

"A dialog? Was it to get him to ask you questions?" inquired Niobe, thinking of the Oracle's attempt to tell his future. "Why did you need to?"

"Bingo! Got it in one, dear!" the Oracle smiled. "Since the war, my ability to give and reveal answers is limited. Unless it directly advances the Source's goal, I can't volunteer information at all. Although-" The Oracle leaned back into her chair, then stared contemplatively at Niobe. "I can still reply to direct questions."

"But you gave information to Morpheus," said Niobe, feeling irritated. "And don't tell me that volunteering the machine's opinions advances the Source's goal." The conversation was now starting to remind her of Zion politics; where everything had to be monitored for double-meanings and trickery.

Silence stretched uncomfortably. "Well?" Niobe asked.

The Oracle stared back, taking a drag off her cigarette.

Niobe scowled. "How can you give information that's not asked?"

"In every rule there are exceptions. I freely gave information already known. Now Morpheus might've not known the answer concerning the machines, but I did speak to a Zionist about it," stated the Oracle.

A small silence followed, as Niobe tore apart the conversation, trying to find new meanings. One thing was certain, only questions she asked could be trusted. Any other information could be serving the machines goal. Why couldn't Jason be here? He was comfortable in dealing with this sort of maneuvers; verbal combat was his forte, not hers.

"There's more, isn't there?" Niobe ventured.

"Yes, there is." The Oracle said. Niobe waited for more, until it was obvious that the Oracle was finished.

"So is there something more you want me to ask? Or was it asked already?" said Niobe.

"It was. But not by you. By Morpheus."

"Morpheus? A question by Morpheus?" said Niobe sharply. She had thought to make sure the Oracle had given her all the important information. But to find out that Morpheus somehow missed information the Oracle thought important? And now she had to uncover it? Her head was starting to ache. "What did he miss?"

"The right question," the Oracle stated.

Niobe rubbed her forehead, feeling utterly furious at Morpheus for putting her in this predicament. What question did the Oracle mean? There had been only one question that Morpheus was interested in She caught her breath, surprised at the simplicity of it all.

"Is Neo truly dead?" she asked. "I noticed that you said, 'he died, like before' but Trinity once said he had died, but returned ---" her voice faltered.

"I knew you were a smart one!" Oracle gave a smile that faded. "It will depend on Morpheus. With Trinity dead" the Oracle shook her head.

"Why didn't you tell Morpheus that Neo was alive?" Niobe said. She had never trusted the Oracle, it had been one of the things that driven her and Morpheus apart, his blind faith in this seer. "You're deliberately misleading him."

"I made a choice, one that you will understand shortly." The Oracle stared contemplatively at the cigarette smoke "Tell me, what would you choose-the truth with the knowledge that he would die to protect and thereby destroy all, or deception and life?"

"What?" Niobe asked hoarsely. "Is Morpheus in danger?"

"You'll know when he's in danger. Believe me, you will," the Oracle smiled. "Now don't you have more questions? If so, I would suggest that you ask now."

"Okay," Niobe said, and pushed the anxiety for Morpheus out of her mind. If it was a choice between himself and Neo, she knew what Morpheus would want. "Neo's condition is of paramount concern." She felt an overwhelming dread at the seer's next words. "Is he a prisoner of the machines? Or is he injured?" she added, thinking of Trinity's body on the Logos.

"Neo had been blinded when he had arrived at 01. It's a condition that the Source has treated. And no, Neo isn't a prisoner of the machines. Not exactly." The Oracle voice had a strange tone, and her lips had twisted as she stared at her cigarette intently. Niobe frowned.

"So what precisely is the problem with Neo?" she grounded out. Despite knowing the Oracle's restrictions, Niobe felt as if the seer was toying with her.

"Simply put, the Architect brainwashed Neo. The One now believes that he is a machine."

"What?" Niobe stared, wordlessly.

The Oracle stubbed out her cigarette and lit up a new one before continuing. "Neo believes himself a program, to be precise. One made by the Architect. I suppose in one sense it's true," the Oracle mused, shaking her head. "Poor kid."

"How did this happen?" She started to pace around the room, and stopped in front of the seer.

"In the battle with Smith, of course," replied the Oracle. "The results of the battle was that Neo died, if only temporarily. His consciousness was consumed by Smith, and their codes had been tangled nearly beyond saving. Not beyond the Architect's skills, unfortunately."

"Who is this Architect?" Niobe said. "I've never heard of him."

"He holds power over the matrix and over the One." The Oracle sighed. "The Neo you know is almost gone, and if the Architect has his way, the next time you see him, nothing but the One will be left. He would be the Architect's One."

"How can we save Neo? And stop the Architect' plans?" asked Niobe urgently.

"I hate to bring bad news," the Oracle said, "But the real question is, should you stop the Architect? Or save Neo? You'll be given a choice, Niobe, and it will either destroy this peace or cement it forever. And to do that it will only cost one thing, one life."

"Neo's," she answered, stunned. She opened her mouth to ask more, until distracted by the uproar from outside. Gunshots along with screams sounded ominous, especially knowing where Morpheus was.

"It's starting," the Oracle shook her head. "He's going to do something rash. In all his years Morpheus has never learned any caution in words or deeds."

The Oracle stared as the door slammed shut with the force of Niobe's passage.

"No wonder you both get along," she sighed. "And you still hadn't asked the right question."

6 It Begins

The matrix. I have no real memories of it, but from the first it was recognizable in every sense of the word. The matrix was like visiting a place of warmth, and knowing it had joyous, infinite possibilities.

It was home.

The agents led me to a featureless door and when Brown opened it, he stepped through followed by Jones while I watched. The place they walked to was elsewhere.

From the blank threshold I saw tall buildings made of glass and steel. They dominated the skyline, a remote and ominous forest. The doorway opened to a building's roof, and Brown held a hand to his ear, his attitude that of listening. Jones had slowly turned around, scanning everything intently.

There was a sound I recognized as traffic, an endless multitude of cars that roared and honked, snarling as they sped by, sight unseen. I stepped onto the roof, and my foot met gravel, a gray carpet that crunched as I moved. A slanted bright light burned from the sky, and the sharp damp coldness of the air felt like early morning.

The intensity of the matrix was in turns alarming and reassuring. Alarming, for unlike the home of the Architect, many objects such as buildings and cars-- indeed, many sensory distractions like the cold and dampness and noise, seemed to serve little purpose. But it was reassuring in the sense that it was familiar. A piece of my dreams.

I stared at the scenery and wondered: where was the green curtain? I felt a shift within myself as something dormant, infinitely old and deadly suddenly awoke, and the matrix --- changed.

Everything now looked like green fire, a multi-dimensional rain of letters and numbers-that swirled and crawled endlessly in a continuous loop forming the buildings the sky and even the cold dampness. Everything was made of it, and as I looked down I saw the green light I was created of.

Looking at the silhouetted agents I saw the green fire consisting of Brown subtly alter, starting at his ear, and a moment later the same happened to Jones. I realized that the two had received new information, and the information had something to do with me.

My vision of the matrix shifted to normal, and I found both agents staring at me.

"Mr. Anderson," said Agent Brown. "We will leave you for a few minutes. Do not be alarmed at what transpires to these bodies."

Agent Jones continued. "If you stay here we will return shortly."

The agents changed, and Brown morphed into a stocky old man, while Jones altered into a young woman. Both looked around in shock, until the woman said:

"Where is this? Am I dreaming?"

>>>>>

Niobe, after charging out through the Oracle's door, stopped and stared. She found herself in the middle of an empty downtown street. The height of the buildings shot upward to heart-stopping vertigo, shadowing the street in artificial twilight, devouring the sky except for a pale strip directly overhead.

"No. Morpheus!" Niobe spun and raced back to her starting point, to open the door she arrived in. She saw with a sinking heart that the door she came through was steel, and had no handle on it. She began to pound on it in frustration.

"Let me back in, goddamn you!"

The door opened. Within the door stood an oriental man. He was dressed in white jacket and black tank top and pants, the cloth warmly lit from the corridor's light that framed him.

"Captain Niobe? I'm from the Oracle. She sent me to guide you through the right door," he said as he stepped aside for her passage. "Will you follow me?"

>>>>>

Morpheus was standing on the sidewalk looking the opposite way when trouble started.

He was staring blindly upwards at the branches of the tree he stood under, trying to keep himself from thinking and failing miserably.

Brooding on the fact that despite achieving the lifelong goal of finding the One of Prophesy and thereby saving Zion he felt- hollow. And he knew why.

It was the knowledge of what the Oracle was. With the revelation that the Oracle was a program, everything he'd done, everything he believed was now cast in doubt and made worthless.

Worthless because he believed that mankind's freedom had been compromised; and the war's ending--- a deception.

More, every crewmember's death, counting even Cypher, a man whom he knew as a traitor to humanity, now weighed heavily in his heart. Nearly every member on his ship fought in the war because they trusted the prophecy, and ultimately trusted him.

The Prophesy had been a lie. And the trust--- he had failed.

Failed because he had never considered the possibility that the Oracle was a program.

Knowledge that he had accepted help from a program and never realized it shook his confidence to the core. How could he have not known the Oracle was a program, a machine? It was so obvious in retrospect; her abilities in predicting the future were uncannily accurate. So accurate that he had never questioned the source--- and ultimately, the prophesy of the war's end.

Not until Neo revealed the Prophesy as a lie did he start to question. And not until he saw a stranger claim to be the Oracle did the truth finally sink in

Mopheus frowned. Why had the Oracle, a program, helped humans during the war, no matter how indirectly? There had been times, especially during the beginning, that the war could've been easily won by the machines. Yet the Oracle's advice had always helped Zion, and ultimately, humanity. Was her help a trick, a ruse?

At first glance, it seemed not. Yet

And what of the conclusion of the war? Was it truly a victory, knowing that a program, a machine helped end the war? Or was the war's outcome, this peace, in the end another way for the machines to control humanity?

He feared it was.

The only thing that kept him from dwelling on such thoughts was the need to discover the fate of Neo. Through the whole war he had never lost faith in his friend, knowing how deeply Neo cared for Zion. That no matter what the cost Neo would somehow save Zion.

And through the terrifying battle in Zion he held on to the belief that Neo would survive the war, and return to Zion. That both he and Trinity would return. Only when Trinity was found on the Logos did doubt creep in.

Thinking of Trinity, Morpheus felt as if a blade twisted in his gut, and his mind flinched from the painful memory of finding her. His thoughts turned to the other raw ache.

Now that he knew for certain that Neo was dead-he still couldn't believe or accept it.

Morpheus heard a shout and gunshots followed by another scream. Turning quickly, he saw the long black coat of the approaching figure and more--- he saw the pursuers. They wore dark suits and jackets, and moved with unnatural grace and speed.

Agents. Three of them.

A moment later they caught their target, a single agent on each side grabbing a shoulder, an arm, while the third agent a stood few paces back holding a gun at their target. Seeing the agents' still pose, Morpheus reacted, and pulled out a gun in each hand to shoot them.

Though deadly in motion, agents had a singular weakness. When focused on their prey, they could be surprised, and often reacted with humanlike speed. There was a moment when the two agents holding their target stiffened in surprise as they looked down at the red flowers that bloomed on their chests. The third agent dodged his bullet, returning fire while the other two agents collapsed to the ground. Morpheus snarled in frustration, moving to hide behind the tree that only a minute before he had admired, hearing the muffled impact of the bullets on the tree.

Hidden behind the tree Morpheus heard a single shot along with the unmistakable crack of breaking bone. Glancing around the tree he then saw the third agent crumple forward, his head twisted at a strange angle, neck broken. The target of the agent's pursuit dropped from a high-flying kick stance, his posture ready to continue battle with the fallen agents if they moved.

Morpheus also watched, waiting for an event to signal the fight's end.

Blue lightning surrounded the fallen agents and morphed into figures lying face forward ---changing into a small dead man, a dead elderly woman. Underneath each body grew a small pool of blood, while the third body changed into a teenage boy.

As always Morpheus felt a twinge of regret as he saw the lifeless bodies. He now realized with a sense of shock that his actions were unnecessary, that all Zionists except for him and Niobe were gone from the matrix. Whenever he had seen an agent, he knew it was stalking either him or a crewmember. Through the years it had become an automatic response-see an agent chase someone, attack to distract the agent from their target-- then flee.

Whom were the agents chasing? He turned to the approaching figure and froze. And his heartbeat, which rarely rose in risky situations, skyrocketed.

"Morpheus," said Smith slowly. "What a surprise."

7 Confrontation

I watched as the codes changed, the green flame that shaped Brown and Jones flowed and melted away from the human hosts, a process that fascinated me. They lifted away, infinitely far and at the same time a breath away, a contradiction that made sense only within the matrix, seeing layer after layer repeating in endless array, giving three dimensions to one dimensional codes.

The agents codes had stretched and thinned to near invisibility, and as I watched I saw where they led and decided to follow. My vision returned to normal, and I remembered the two that were left with me.

They were huddled a small distance away, talking softly and furtively glancing at me. Catching my gaze the woman approached. Dressed in a gray business suit she said, "It sounds mad, but what's happened here? I had a blackout, and I never have them. Last thing I remember was walking to my car after work in the evening---and now I'm here and it looks like morning!" During the recital the woman's voice rose until it was a near shriek at the end. She covered her mouth with both hands, her face wild and distressed. Her short blonde hair fluttered in the wind.

I said nothing. Listening to her distress made me automatically grab the shades in my coat, and I fought the urge to slip them on. I knew it would be rude, not to mention suspicious, to now wear them, yet the woman made me uncomfortable.

We both stared at one another, the woman's eyes growing larger and expression changing until it became unreadable to me. She turned abruptly and grabbed the sleeve of the other man. "Let's go." It was only when she looked at me again that I understood her emotion. It was panic.

The man frowned at her, and then glared at me. Dressed in an ill-fitting brown suit that bulged around his middle, he jerked his sleeve away from the woman. "Are you the one that caused my blackout?"

"No." I stared at the man, and wondered if he would react oddly. The woman puzzled me, and I found her terror unsettling. I had done nothing to evoke such emotion.

"I don't believe you. You're hiding something!" The man's moon-like face turned a dark shade of red, and his beefy hand reached out to grab me.

I took a couple of steps away, deciding it was easier to avoid confrontation. I moved quickly, letting the world's motion slow a fraction, and watched the man's futile attempt to grab my coat.

He tried it several times, fingers missing my coat by only fractions of an inch. His face turned a darker red as he screamed increasingly foul words as he hysterically reached for me and missed. On his last attempt he literally ran at me, his vast bulk lurching forward uncontrollably, gravel flying at his charge until his legs hit the roof's ledge. It was a ledge that I had easily hopped over, to stand on air. In his attempt to catch me the man saw the danger too late.

His motion stopped for a second, arms comically wind milling in hopes of halting his onward plunge then he toppled over, falling toward the alley below. I grabbed his business jacket, pulling him back to the roof and tossed him toward the woman. The man fell on his back and moved feebly, stunned.

"You're not human," the woman said as she knelt beside the prone body of the man. During the whole confrontation she only watched, never taking her eyes off me for a second.

"Why believe that?" I was curious how she came to that conclusion.

"Y-your feet. They haven't touched the roof since I've been here."

I looked down, and realized what she meant. Between the bottom of my soles and the roof were several inches of air. The sensory impression in the matrix was so rich and diverse, that to limit my exposure I had lifted myself off the gravel, and never noticed it.

"I'm human enough to make a mistake." I felt embarrassed: an uncomfortable emotion. I wondered if I should let my feet rest on the gravel, but realized the damage was already done, and stayed as I was.

"What are you?" the man was now sitting up, staring at me with crazed eyes. "Are you an alien?"

"Not really." To say any more would involve explanations about the matrix, something the Architect had forbidden. Yet the terror and speculation in the their eyes distressed me, and tore my inner emptiness a little larger.

The woman pulled back as the man scrambled to his feet. "I'm going home," he said without looking at either of us. Gravel crunching as he moved, he stood in front of the entrance I arrived from then jerked the door open. A stairwell greeted my sight. He walked in and held the door open as the woman stood up and walked toward him.

"Are you going to follow us?" the woman's voice trembled, as she paused to stare at me.

"No. You'll never see me again." The relief on her face was painful to see. I watched the door close on them, and stood in silence, listening to the noise of the city. The sound, remote and rumbling soothed my inner turmoil.

My first contact with humanity was --- disquieting. And I wondered what memory of humans could be so terrible to be erased by the Architect.

Moments later I flew away.

>>>>>

"Smith!" Morpheus whispered. He was momentarily surprised that he hadn't recognized the ex-agent, until he saw the reason why.

The area surrounding the program was blurred by shadows, a murky halo that warped form and hid details, blending with his business suit. As Smith stalked forward, the dark swirled around him, trailing from his motion like a cloak, pieces breaking off to disappear in the sunlight.

Against that gloom the ashen triangle of Smith' shirt looked like a paper cutout, its whiteness a support for his pallid face. The shades covering his eyes hollowed out his features, giving his face a gaunt, skull-like look.

"Well, well. Morpheus," Smith's voice was jarring because of its calm tone, the thin smile given to an acquaintance, not mortal enemies. "No dramatic statement or action?"

"Just this," said Morpheus. Both guns aimed at the program's chest, and he shot at least ten times until the clips was empty.

Smith dodged them all.

"Ineffective and pathetic, Morpheus. I expected better from you," he said after the last bullet. "Did you really think you could hurt me?"

"Realistically, no. But I thought they might," Morpheus said. Smith turned, a moment too late, and the agents caught his arms. Smith swiveled his head to study each program, his eyebrow raised in interest. The dark that clothed Smith had faded to nothing, and the ex-agent frowned as he spoke.

"Well, well. Agents Brown and Jones. Did the Architect send you to stop me?" Smith added with subtle distaste, "Or did he think to influence my 'human' emotions?"

"Smith, we're---I'm sorry," the smaller agent said. "The mainframe ordered---" Both agent and ex-agent lock gazes for a second, and then the agent dropped his head. "I'm sorry."

But Morpheus saw that despite everything said, the agents held Smith firmly in his grip. Conscious of his uncertain status within the matrix, Morpheus wondered if he should quietly escape, yet the drama unfolding before him was too compelling to miss.

"It's an agent's purpose," Smith said. "To follow the orders given by the mainframe." His voice contained faint traces of desolation and grief and left its stamp on his face.

"Silence, Anomaly," the taller agent said. "The Architect has ordered your deletion." His hand held a knife that glittered blindingly in the sun.

In the weapon's presence, the deadly rage and arrogance that normally cloaked Smith suddenly appeared and wiped his face free of all emotion. Seeing it, Morpheus instinctively went for his weapons, aborting the movement on remembering the guns were empty.

"Deletion?" Smith said. "Oh, I think not. Permit me to demonstrate a skill I recently acquired. One courtesy of Mr. Anderson." Darkness suddenly boiled around the renegade, a dark that latched onto the other agents to frame them for a second, until the two agents cried out in shock at what happened next.

Blue lightning flared over the two agents, changing their forms. The impressive agents shrank to white-haired old men, who clutched Smith's sleeves in disorientation.

"I won't be interrupted." Smith grabbed the old men by the scruff of their collars and flung them away. "Especially by obsolete human hosts." They landed on a suburban lawn twenty feet away. From the unnatural sprawl of limbs Morpheus knew they were dead.

Glancing downward, Morpheus saw the knife at his feet. Before he could even blink, Smith swooped down to pick up the knife, studying it.

"Hmm. The code in this weapon is dangerous," Smith mused. "Even to me." He dropped the weapon and stepped on it.

The knife blade shattered in a flash of green light along with Morpheus' emotional detachment. Conscious of the menace in the program's gaze, he realized the danger he was now in.

Flight was the only safe choice, yet with Smith just a couple of paces away, impossible to achieve. His chances of escape were nil, yet the thought of quietly surrendering went against everything he held dear. And while he had no hope for escape, he knew Niobe would easily evade Smith if the program was occupied with someone else.

So Morpheus attacked.

Savagely he threw punches, kicks that would've disabled any ordinary human. Smith easily countered every attack, making no attempt to retaliate, his expression hinting of boredom. Morpheus switched tactics and head butted the program, doing only enough damage to slightly skew the glasses on Smith's face and change the boredom to distain.

The next punch Morpheus threw Smith pulled and twisted at his left arm, dislocating it from the shoulder. And then Smith kicked his right kneecap, crushing bone with a sudden snap.

Morpheus tumbled away from the program in shock, falling on his back.

Smith calmly adjusted his shades and straightened his tie then pulled at his cuffs, indifferent to the fallen man. Suit and appearance flawless he then bent down to grasp Morpheus' coat lapels and pulled him carelessly to his feet.

Morpheus fought back a scream as his arm and leg started to blaze with pain at the movement. He tried to ignore the ache, compartmentalized it, knowing the throbbing pain would increase as the shock wore off. While the agony from his dislocated shoulder was great, it was nothing compared to the fire radiating from his shattered knee.

Morpheus was glad that the program kept his fist holding onto his coat, otherwise he knew he couldn't stand. His balance was uncertain as he wobbled on one leg, and his shattered knee grated in protest while the pain flared and flared again at every minute shift in balance. He heard Smith speaking, his voice a remote buzz in waves of mounting pain.

"It's surprising how fragile the human body and mind is." Smith said contemplatively. "Even you unplugged humans, you 'Zionists' who knows the truth of the unreality of this place, even you are affected by its rules. Especially the rules of pain, of death." Smith paused, and a small silence followed.

"Your point?" Morpheus rasped. He noted with interest that his agony had changed the surrounding to a greenish color, edged with a creeping black. Smith's face was looming moon in a darkening landscape, bisected with two black holes for eyes.

"Agents are programmed with the knowledge of how to inflict pain. And you feel pain, don't you Morpheus? Pain even when you know that you were never crippled, never injured in your real world. Part of you knows it's not real, while the other, well, the other part is ready to pass out from the agony."

"I can't allow that, I won't allow that. Time is not on my side." Darkness engulfed Morpheus' sight. For a second Morpheus thought he blacked out, until he felt a sharp flaring cold radiate from his knee. The freeze was immense but disappeared as the dark faded away, and with it all his pain from his knee. Sunlight and the world returned.

Blinking, Morpheus stared at Smith, who released his coat and took a few steps away from him. Looking down at his right knee, he cautiously shifted balance, surprised at the absence of agony. "Smith....What did you do? My knee- it doesn't hurt anymore. You healed it?" pain from his shoulder throbbed, a reminder that not all was well.

"I simply reordered the codes in your knee. Don't fool yourself into thinking I did it out of any kindness. I needed you aware, not unconscious from shock."

"Believe me, I'd never assume you capable of kindness." Morpheus said. Smith thinly smiled in response.

"Now, where were we Morpheus? Oh yes. You needed to assert your superiority over me, after which I disabuse you of that notion along with that of my ex-colleagues. Now that's finished, I plan to interrogate you-and this time," cold intensity burned through the dark glasses. "I will not be as patient or kind."

"You can ask your questions, Smith." Morpheus said. "But the question is---will I answer? I think not."

"Please. I know you would rather die before answering my question," Smith slipped off his shades and stared contemplatively at him. Morpheus felt a stab of unease, where once the ex-agent seemed a psychotic with fits of unmanageable rage, this Smith was---in control, and many times more dangerous. An expression of bitter amusement flickered briefly on the program's face. "Would it perhaps help to say that the information I seek wouldn't harm anyone from Zion?"

"No." At his reply Smith slipped his shades back on.

"As I expected." Smith's quiet, matter-of-fact tone was chilling "Therefore, I will take my answer anyway. And if we're interrupted by your friends, I will kill them-very painfully-as you watch."

Morpheus' eyes narrowed. "I will die before I reveal any information, Smith. I will never talk."

"Never?" Smith's voice slightly mocked. "But my method had nothing to do with your talking. And everything to do with your thinking about the information I need."

"What?"

"The code of a person's thoughts can be easily read, especially by one who sees the matrix, and thereby controls it."

"Impossible! Even Neo-"

"Zion's savior had the ability, Morpheus. He never had the time or desire to develop it. I did. It's yet another skill I acquired from him, and was given quite willingly, I might add."

"You're lying, Smith! Neo would never-"

"You're lying, Smith! Neo would never-"

"What makes you think I would do such a human thing as lie, Morpheus?" Smith said, then lifted his eyebrow in surprise. "You suspect the Oracle lied to you? How very interesting."

Morpheus stared in quietly dawning horror, as the program continued, shaking his head in derisive sympathy.

"No, the Oracle has never spoken a word of untruth, but what she never said---that could fill mountains."

"I will not believe---" .

"Believe what you wish, I don't care. I only want the answer to my question." Smith said. The shadows devoured the sunlight to enfold both in a private darkness. Morpheus turned to escape, regardless of consequences, but Smith grabbed and wrenched his dislocated arm, evicting a strangled scream from clenched teeth. The program seized his collar, dragging Morpheus' head forward to whisper in his ear.

"Where is he? Where is Mr. Anderson?"

Morpheus froze in shock, pain forgotten at the question. Smith released his collar, stepping away, the darkness fading into bright sunlight, and watched the Zionist.

"Where is he?" repeated Morpheus, feeling a smile twist his mouth. He saw the program glare at him, and knew that Smith was reading his thoughts.

On Smith's face was a grimace of rage and frustration. "Are you insane? There is so such place in the matrix."

And Morpheus, quite out of character, began to laugh.

8 Falling

Flight in the matrix was everything I dreamed. Mankind's tall earthbound building shrank in size as I flew up higher in the atmosphere of the matrix. Soon the buildings looked like nothing but children's blocks, a faint haze of smog clouding the grid-like outline of the city.

It was amusing to see how small and insignificant things could seem. The air was crisp and cold, the chill numbing and exhilarating. I paused in my endless ascent, and slowly spun around to survey the panoramic view.

It was magnificent. The sky was a rich blue, while below me the earth was a patchwork of dun colors- a medley of brown, gray and yellow. Overlaying the land was scraps of clouds, shredded pieces of fluff that slowly moved as I watched.

As my eyes absorbed everything and I held myself motionless in the air, I sensed the quiet. Despite the wind whispering in my ear, I felt a deep and endless silence, an immense stillness that contained forever.

And I recognized it.

My effortless command of the matrix was lost, consumed by a wave of memories, emotions that welled up in me to fall with lethal force. Phantom agony flashed across my eyes, causing me to involuntarily hold my hands against my eyes. In the darkness I recalled, and remembered words:

"Beautiful" a woman whispered. It was then I heard the silence, the deep echo of eternity.

"Trinity, what is it?"

She answered-a shadow, unknown ghost of the past, "It's the sky, Neo. I see the sky," her voice was laced with awe, amazement. From her joy I caught the lingering beauty of her vision. For one moment I see her face, the delicate arch of eyebrows over large blue eyes and then like a dream, the memory fades. And wondered, why can't I remember her face? And why can't I see the sky?

Another memory surfaced; a dim memory of a woman falling, plummeting from a great height. As she fell she shot at a pursuing agent-- a program also falling and returning her fire. There was cold fury and desperation in every line of her body, then the agent shot a bullet---and I saw in slow motion the bullet piercing her chest, her features twisted in agony and shock. And still she fell

"No! Trinity!" Grief and loss filled me with a pain so great it was like a killing blow. And I knew that Trinity was dead. But who was she? I never remember her face moments after recall, yet like all my memories, they leave more questions than answers. Was that truly an agent shooting her? And why does her death hurt me so? What had this woman meant to me, no-not me but my earlier version?

I came out of my daze abruptly, feeling my body falling, the wind howling in my ears. Uncurling my hands from my face I opened my tearing eyes against the wind's pressure. The ground rushed toward me with shocking speed, the lines and blocks of the city expand by the second.

I'm falling. I'm falling and gonna to end up as street pizza! I'm falling like Trinity! The words rang in my mind with paralyzing force, as I stare at the expanding landscape. The edges of city now take a slightly two dimensional shape as the land directly below began to reveal more detail, the rectangles revealing themselves as city blocks and smaller squares appeared within the enlarging squares.

Roof tops, I realized, the ground is seconds away. I then reached for the ability to manipulate the matrix. Yet the skill that had seemed so easy minutes before eluded my grasp, as I also dealt with the residue of emotions. The despair at the lost of Trinity, the joy of the sky- all these feelings disrupted my command of the matrix. And now the fear of death clashed with tumultuous emotions and memories, as I fought to stop my descent.

I failed.

And watched as the ground, a two lane road, set between two blocks of single homes widen from a thin ribbon, to a larger band, lengthening until it expanded into a wall that I was seconds away from hitting

It's not real, my mind suddenly screamed, you're not falling to your death! I closed my eyes and realized, no felt--without doubt or uncertainty, it was true. From the depths of my turmoil, a shadow emerged and touched the matrix for a brief second.

Seconds past as the expected fatal impact never happened, and the motion of falling had stopped. I opened my eyes to see a dark gray wall in front of me, the surface a lumpy texture with white pebbles occasionally seen. Reaching out to touch the surface I felt the gritty texture, it's warmth.

It's the road. The moment I realized that gravity caught me, and I fell-I had stopped my fatal plunge less than arms-length from the road, and simply dropped to the ground.

Shaking from the excess emotion and adrenaline, I cautiously stood up, and dusted myself off. The screech of tires and the long blast of a horn erupted behind me and I turned to look at a compact car. I stared at a frowning face behind a dark windshield, flinching as he used the horn again.

For one second I think to pay disrespect with equal rudeness. It's easy to alter the matrix code and stop the car from working. Easier still to pick up the car and shake it's occupant like a rattle. Or just pick up the car and toss it upside down. All choices tempt me as the driver blasts the horn for the third time, a long explosion that leave my ears ringing at the end.

But I chose the easiest and most difficult action; I step off the road and watch the car drive away. The driver never looked at me again.

Humans. My second encounter with them is no more pleasant than the first. I wondered if the Architect was right, that any memory of humans from my predecessor should be altered, even deleted.

Yet did I want the memory of Trinity gone? I only remember fragments, yet what I do recall--- haunts me. And somehow fills my emptiness.

I must think on it.

>>>>>

"That was unexpected. We were deleted from the host body." Jones said. Running internal diagnostics he checked his position. He was surprised to note that they were only a few miles away from their previous location, within a private home. It would only take them moments to return to confront their former leader.

"What is unexpected is that Smith did not fragment our code." Brown answered, staring at the fork he held in his hand. On the fork's tines the lettuce shined with olive oil. Dropping it on the table with a clatter, he stood up from the chair to cross the room. Brown then moved the curtains to look out the front window and scanned the street.

"I was surprised at-at the Virus' power," Jones said. Other than being forcibly expelled from the human host he realized nothing within his system was changed or deleted. While reassuring, it was also troubling, an observation he didn't want to analyze.

"The Virus? You mean Smith. Why not say his name? You never say his name. Why?" Brown turned away from the window to stare at him. Jones matched his gaze.

"Because he's an exile and Virus, Brown. I accepted his orders when he was under mainframe control. The moment he stopped obeying orders is when Agent Smith died to me. Now only the Virus is left. Only a anomaly of the matrix. Like before." Jones found it odd that Brown rarely liked to communicate through the earpiece. Much like Smith had been before he went rogue.

"You said, 'Smith died.' That is a human expression Jones." Brown said quietly.

"So?" Jones challenged the other. Brown stared for a moment until he faintly shrugged his shoulders. Brown then returned his gaze to the window, ignoring Jones intense glare.

Never communicating through the earpiece seemed odd until Jones realized it helped to keep certain thoughts hidden. Commands like the ones the Architect had given each of them, concerning their one-time leader.

"Don't you think our situation is strange?" Brown said, his eyes fixed firmly on the window.

Jones stared silently.

"Smith ran when we were to be returned to the source. But the Architect has since reactivated us. The question is, why?"

"We are needed to guard Mr. Anderson." Jones said promptly. He was relieved to give an answer that didn't cause him to scan for glitches. Since Agent Smith turned an exile, it had almost become a compulsion to check his memory. To observe Brown for emerging flaws and wonder if either of them would turn out to be corrupted like their former partner.

It had been a relief when they had both willingly returned to the source. Yet since his reactivation, he noted how emotional Brown had become. Just like Smith had been before his exile.

"There are upgraded agents to perform the job. And our instructions, don't you consider them strange?" Brown said his head tilted as he finally turned his attention back to his partner.

"No, I do not." Jones said. He then sent a message through his earpiece. And I won't talk about this! Please Brown, I do not want to be deleted! But as Jones half expected, Brown ignored the sending and continued.

"Why were we sent to attack Smith as soon as we reached to matrix? The Architect knows how powerful Smith has become. We couldn't defeat Smith and the Architect knows this. But we were ordered to attack him if Mr. Anderson wasn't nearby to see our fight. Our following orders make even less sense. And why were we also given separate orders? There must be a reason."

"Brown-" Jones said.

"I know we're not to discuss our separate orders. But let me check with the mainframe about something," the smaller agent lifted his hand to his earpiece.

"What are you inquiring about?"

"The other agents status." Silence reigned until Jones noted the change in the other's expression.

"Brown?" it disturbed him that Brown's face was showing emotion.

"Three agents are missing from the matrix. Like the others they are presumed terminated, codes deleted." Brown's voice was hard, echoing the expression on his face.

"Three agents? Others?"

"Yes, the agents in pursuit of Smith before we arrived. Let me check on another fact from the mainframe." Jones waited as a remote stillness settled over the smaller agent, until a minute later a surprising event occurred.

"Brown? Why are you shaking? Are you malfunctioning?" Jones watched with alarm as the other agent's hands trembled until they clenched into fists.

"I queried the mainframe about how many agents are active in the matrix. Including us, there are only two." Brown's voice was steady, yet Jones noted that his face seemed paler than normal, a ghostly mask behind dark shades.

"Two? Are you saying that we are the only agents left?"

"Yes."

"Impossible." Jones said. "The Architect need only reboot-" Brown shook his head in reply.

"Jones, all the upgraded agents codes have been deleted, expunged from the matrix." Brown added reluctantly. "Possibly erased by Smith." Jones knew that for Brown to even mention the theory made it all but certain. The mainframe rarely dealt with ambiguities.

"There's a master template for each agent. The Architect can-" Jones continued until interrupted by Brown.

"The mainframe stated that reactivation of agent programs is counterproductive. Until a newer upgrade can be written and loaded, agents are low priority. And you know our orders."

"This is--" wacked, crazy, insane. Internally Jones ran through those words and left them unsaid. While appropriate to the situation, they were emotional, something he wanted to avoid. He started again. "What can we do against the Virus- against Smith? He defeated upgraded agents, programs more advanced than us. What can we do?"

"What we always do, Jones. We obey orders. What else can we do? Run?" Brown said.

"It's a thought." The words hung burning in the air between them. They stared at each other for endless minutes until someone began to pound on the front door.

"Agent Brown? Jones?" called a voice thru the door.

"Neo Anderson. You followed us?" Jones opened the front door and surveyed their assignment. Leaning casually against the doorframe, Anderson looked rumpled, the gray of his suit and black duster smudged with traces of dirt. Jones noted how much more human he looked, his face faintly smiling at them.

"Yeah, I grew tired of waiting. I notice your codes were disrupted for a second a while back. Was there trouble?" Neo looked curiously at both programs.

He could see their code. Until then, Jones had felt a sort of distant contempt about Anderson, like he did with all humans. He had put the earlier destruction of Smith in the hallway as a fluke of circumstance, a one in a million chance. No human could ever be the equal of any program, no matter what they could do. Even the ability to stop bullets didn't impress him. Knowledge that Neo was under the Architect's control only strengthened his estimation.

That Anderson could see code shattered that opinion. Only the most advanced and powerful programs could see code. And the knowledge that the human could interpret code wasfrightening.

For the first time Jones understood Smith's need to destroy this human.

"Trouble?" Brown repeated.

It was a comfort for Jones that both he and Brown activated their earpieces to act as one unit, especially when in the presence of others. Yet the security faded knowing they both held certain data partitioned and hidden away.

As one both agents exchanged glances and info and this last thought.

We do our duty-our purpose. We follow orders.

For now.

Jones was uncertain where the last thought came from.