RATING:  R.  

DISCLAIMER:  I claim no rights to the Matrix characters or concepts; they belong to the Wachowskis and the WB.  And I’m useless to sue since I have no money.

SYNOPSIS:  What would have happened if Neo had safely escaped the subway station before fighting Agent Smith?  An alternate universe story.

THANKS:  To Kirstma, who gave me this idea by first asking the question I’ve attempted to answer here.  To Scottishlass, for saying “finish the damn thing, would you?!”  And, of course, to the great and wonderful MTS, who edits all my pieces so beautifully and asks nothing in return except my undying affection.

A/N:  This started as a pretty standard what-if story, dealing with the question above.  But it’s evolved into something beyond just that, really.  What do I mean?  Oh, that would spoil the fun. . . you’ll just have to read it, I guess.  The Wachowskis have given us such wonderful characters to play with, what can I say?  Part 1 basically sets the scene; parts 2 and 3 are more plot-driven and will follow shortly.  

THREE BULLETS - Part 3

You’re a boy and I’m a girl
But you know you can lean on me
And I don’t have no fear
I’ll take on any man here
Who says that’s not the way it should be
And I’ll stand in front of you
I’ll take the force of the blow
Protection

            -Tracey Thorn with Massive Attack, “Protection”

III.  TOMORROW

We do not have history.  Senior officers know the stories of the lives of the people they unplug, but nobody asks about the lives of those who came before them.  The captain knows the lives of the crew, but the crew do not know the captain.  But those pasts are much forgotten.  We convince ourselves that they weren’t real and therefore don’t matter; we pretend that our own little horror stories have no effect upon the people – or the fighters – that we become.  We intone that “the Matrix cannot tell you who you are,” reminding ourselves and each other that our realities can be what we make of them.  Only those of us who visit the Oracle believe in fate.  Those who never meet her scoff at the idea that they aren’t in control of themselves.  Perhaps those of us who visit the Oracle are the only ones who have fate.  

Some of us have nightmares.  Sleep haunts us with visions of a time when the false was real and truth was the carrot dangled just beyond our reach.  Many of us did not have happy lives; at times it is those memories that awaken in the unconscious mind.  We remember a past that only a precious few know.

We rarely dream of falling – that kind of abandon is foreign to us.  But there are times we dream of blackness, of suffocating in an ocean of dark, drowning in a void where no one can see our outstretched hands.

***

Trinity and Neo met early, in the Construct.  

“I don’t understand why I have to go back already,” Neo said, “I just saw her yesterday.”

“Morpheus thinks it’s important,” Trinity replied quietly, subconsciously checking her gear to make sure she had all she needed:  pistols at her hips and back; knife at her belt.  

“She already told me what I need to know.”  He shook his head, “we really don’t need to do this.”

“Wasn’t my idea,” Trinity said, straightening, “but it needs to be done.  Ready?”

“Sure.”  

And the sensory assault of the Matrix engulfed them.

***

Trinity materialized in a deserted, inner-city phone booth.  Within seconds she realized that she had arrived alone.  Under her breath she cursed Cypher again for the damage he had wrought with that damn plasma rifle.  This was a minor inconvenience, especially compared to everything else that had happened, but it was just one more thing that they really didn’t need.  She dialled Tank.

“I don’t know, you just got diverted!” he said the moment he picked up, foregoing any greeting whatsoever.  “Some glitch in the machinery on our end, dammit.  Hang on, I’ll patch you an exit and reroute you—”

“Where did Neo come out?”  Trinity interrupted, a flicker of an idea crossing her mind.

“Where you were supposed to:  6th and Pine.  I couldn’t get you closer, they were all busy areas.”  He chuckled quietly.  “Rush hour.”

Trinity jogged to the nearest corner and looked up to see the street signs fixed to the side of the buildings.  3rd and Fremont.  Morpheus’ words sprang to mind:  we need to push him.  She was afraid of pushing him too hsard – but this wasn’t really that hard, was it?  After a brief moments consideration she spoke again:  “Don’t reroute me.”  

“What?  Why?”

“This’ll be good for Neo.  Call it training.”  She smiled to herself.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment the line went quiet, and Trinity knew he was probably checking with Morpheus, covering his mouthpiece to keep her from knowing.  She didn’t mind that, really; Tank liked to stick to the rules.  

“All right,” he said eventually.  “Anything looks fishy near either of you, though, and I send you exits and you get your asses out.  Boss’s orders.  Okay?”

“Sure.”  She smiled again, “We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I just don’t always like your definition of  ‘fine,’ is all,” he laughed.  “Catch you later.”

***

Neo’s first reaction upon finding himself alone was to call Trinity.  He tried Tank when he couldn’t get through to her.  After that, though, when he found himself unable to reach either of them, he sat down on the bench outside the booth and waited.  They were probably talking to each other, he reasoned, and would get in touch with him soon.  He could see the street sign from where he sat:  6th and Pine.  The Oracle, he remembered, was on 5th street, though he wasn’t sure of the exact location; if he had to, he could find it on his own.  

The Oracle.  God, back to the Oracle.  As if one session of her bullshit hadn’t been enough, now he had to –

What was that?

It was a sound like wind through a tunnel, like a voice whispering through clenched teeth something that he couldn’t understand.  It came from somewhere off to his right.  And then a scuffling sound, like crooked, shuffling footsteps.  Slowly, Neo brought his hand to rest casually just to the outside of his knee, fingertips brushing the handle of the pistol tucked in his boot.  Just keep breathing and relax, Neo.  He exhaled.  Rules can be broken.  You made the jump.  There is no spoon.

But then she appeared, stumbling around a corner out of an alley.  She was just a kid, really; couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, long hair matted with sweat and dirt, clothes torn and stained.  Her eyes were closed and one hand was pressed to the side of her head.  The other trailed along the side of the building, fingertips following the mortar grooves between the bricks as though to guide her.  Her walking was erratic – she looked drunk.  The only reason she noticed Neo at all was that she happened to stumble a little and step squarely on his foot.

“Oh, shit!  I’m sorry,” she said loudly, and then clutched at the sides of her head as though the sound of her own voice had hurt her.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.”  He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder to keep her from falling over as she began to sway again.  “Are you all right?”

“Yeah – yeah, I’m okay. . . ” she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.  “I just – can you tell me what corner this is?”

“Pine and 6th.” 

“What?  Jesus H. Christ.  How in hell did I . . . .”  She shook her head, looking bewildered.

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m. . . yeah.  Thanks.”  

“No problem.”  

She looked no better as she stumbled off, pausing at the intersection to look carefully in all four directions before crossing to the left and disappearing down Pine.  Poor kid, Neo thought, she’s too young to be messed up in that kind of drug shit.  But his phone rang before he could ponder the issue any longer.

“Yeah.”

“Neo, it’s me.”  Trinity’s voice on the other end.

“Hey – what happened?”

“Some glitch in the machinery on our end.  Tank said he’s taken care of it.”

“All right.  So will he reroute one of us?”

“He offered to send me over to where you are.”  A brief pause.  “I told him not to.”

“What?  Why?”

“Let’s call this your last training sim.  Only it’s not a sim.”

“What?”  Neo jumped up at that, nearly dropping his phone.  “Training?  I thought I was done with that.”

“Oh, Neo.”  For a moment, Neo thought she might laugh.  “Nobody’s ever truly done with training.”

He shook his head.  “All right.  What are we doing?”

“One of the scariest and most dangerous situations in the Matrix arises when the group is split up.  Sometimes communication is lost.  So that’s what we’re going to simulate now – I’m the group, you’re on your own.  For some reason, you can’t reach anybody on your phone.  When that happens, we have a rule that the group must follow specifically the routine that was laid out at the beginning of the mission so that the person who was lost knows where to go to find everybody.  Now, you know where we were headed, right?  So you have to get yourself there and meet back up with me.  For the sake of the exercise, don’t use your phone unless a genuine emergency arises and you absolutely need to contact me or to get out.  Got it?”

In spite of himself, Neo found himself rolling his eyes.  “Yeah.  Got it.”

“All right.  See you there.”  And she hung up.

Neo closed his phone and found himself staring at it, held out in his hand.  He wasn’t particularly concerned by this last stint of training, but – “This,” he said aloud, “is a real pain in the ass.”  Then he pocketed the phone, shook his head once to himself, and began the trudge down the deserted sidewalk toward 5th.

At the corner, he realised he wasn’t as close as he had thought – a good six or seven blocks.  And hey, a block and a half more to Zhang’s Noodle H— he caught the memory before it caught him.  You’ve never eaten noodles, Neo.  You’ve eaten single-celled protein and – God, and—.

It wasn’t revulsion that caused his head to jerk, though.  He realised that he had been walking with his head down, left shoulder all but brushing the bricks and windows of the shops that he passed.  That had probably been a good instinct, he realised, if he wanted to remain unnoticed in the lunchtime rush-hour crowd, but those shoes that he had noticed in the corner of his eye. . . the polish was too spotless, the cut of the pants too perfect.  His head jerked around and there, surely enough, he saw the retreating back of an Agent.  Instinctively he drew a breath and stepped closer to the wall, one hand reaching for the gun at his hip, beneath his coat.  The Agent didn’t turn, though; he kept walking intently away until, a half a block or so down the way, he paused, touched his earpiece, and turned into a doorway.  Neo exhaled sharply and tried to force his shoulders to stop shaking, to calm his racing pulse.  He didn’t notice you, Neo, you’re all right.  You’re all right.  

That was unnerving, though, to literally brush shoulders with an Agent without being noticed.  For a few minutes he toyed with the idea of calling Trinity and asking her, but decided against it.  Training sims had to be viewed as the real thing.  Besides, Tank would call if anything out of the ordinary appeared.  

Through the rest of his walk, Neo couldn’t decide if he was better off keeping his head down and hoping to go unnoticed if any other Agents were to appear, or if he should keep his head up and actively watch for them.  He settled for an awkward medium between the two, keeping his head as low as he could while still keeping his gaze up and ahead of him, scanning the masses over the rims of his sunglasses.  At one point he did see another Agent, but that one was across the street and almost thoroughly blocked from view through the crowds.  Neo was less unnerved by the failure of that Agent to notice him.

A block away from the Oracle’s tenement building, he broke into a steady jog.  The crowd was a little thinner, here, so he had room to move.  As he crossed the last intersection he glanced up at the street sign to confirm his location.  It was when he brought his gaze back down again that he saw him – there, across the street.  The third Agent.  Unmoving on the sidewalk.  But there was no mistaking whether this one had seen him.  In fact, Neo would have sworn that the Agent’s gaze was fixed directly on his face, watching him as he ran faster down the street.  For a single instant Neo looked down to keep from stepping on the legs of a junkie sprawled out in the shade of a few trash cans.  When he looked up again, the sidewalk was empty.  Neo was unsure as to whether there had ever been an Agent there in the first place.  Jesus, Neo, you’re losing it, man.  Get your act together.  Don’t tell this to Trinity.  The last thing she needs to hear is that you’re picking up Agents on your first solo stint.  He took a breath to collect himself, and turned the corner into the small parking lot in front of the Oracle’s building.

***

Trinity had convinced Tank to send her a motorcycle, and she was leaning on the seat of her Speed Triple when Neo wheeled haphazardly in from the sidewalk.  

“Hey, you made it,” she said, sounding – and feeling – strangely satisfied.

Neo smiled and attempted to sound nonchalant:  “Of course I made it.”

Trinity’s eyebrows rose in amusement, and she shook her head.  “Anything to report?”

A pause.  “No,” he said, “nothing.  How come you got a bike and I had to walk?”
“It wasn’t my training sim.”  She could tell he was holding something back.  Years of watching people in the Matrix had taught her to read people’s expressions with some confidence.  And all the time of watching Neo specifically – she could tell there was something wrong.  “You sure everything’s okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.  I’m fine.”

Let it go, Trinity.  He’s just frazzled from having been on his own.  “All right,” she said, “let’s go in.”

Mojo was sitting, as usual, across from the elevator.  Trinity nodded to him in greeting, and waited to be waved through.  For a moment he said nothing, though, he simply cocked his head and looked at them over top of his glasses, fingertips drumming lightly against his cane.  “Oh!” he exclaimed finally, “I remember you, you’re Morpheus’ right-hand man – er, woman.”  He broke into a throaty laugh that quickly broke into a harsh cough, and he spat something onto the floor beside him.  “Sorry,” he said, “go on down.”

Neo followed Trinity into the elevator, and waited as she pressed the button for the Oracle’s floor.  The doors closed.  There was silence for a moment.

“So,” he said, “when were you last here?”

“Six years ago.”

“For your own visit?”

“Yes.”  

“Changed much?”

Her lips twitched and she just barely seemed to smile.  “Not so far, no.  So far it’s exactly the same.  Even old Mojo looks exactly the same.”

Neo laughed; somehow, he wasn’t at all surprised.  “He didn’t say anything yesterday.”

“He recognized Morpheus.  He didn’t have to.”

There was silence between them again; silence that hung thick and heavy, like a shroud, in the tiny elevator car.

“Trinity,” Neo said, suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Yesterday, in that subway station. . .”

Trinity felt her shoulders tense, her hands curling into fists.  “Yes?”

“What – what was it you wanted to say to me?”

The elevator rolled to a stop and the doors slid slowly open.  “I don’t remember,” Trinity said, before stepping out.

***

Trinity led Neo down the narrow hallway, fiery anticipation lodged in her chest.  Before the same familiar, orange door she stopped and spun on her heel.  “This is it,” she said.

“Yeah,” Neo said stiffly, “this is it.”  Then he chuckled, “and I bet you have one piece of advice:  be honest, she knows more than I can ima—”

A single raised eyebrow silenced him.  With one hand she indicated the doorknob.

But again, before his hand could touch the grimy steel, the door opened – of its own accord, it seemed, for a moment.  It opened just barely, too little to be able to see inside the room, but then the space was filled by a woman’s face.  Trinity recognised her as the woman with the snake-eyes.  Six years later, she looked exactly the same as she had before, and Trinity found herself looking down and seeing just how different she was, now.  Every year in her life settled in her body like five years for a normal person.  Your eyes, Morpheus had said to her once, you have the eyes of someone who has seen too much.  I can always tell what you’re looking at, but I always wonder what you actually see. . .

“Hello, Trinity,” the woman said, “and Neo, back so soon?”

Neo looked to Trinity, and then spoke when she didn’t answer:  “Uh, yeah.”

The woman smiled, eyes fixed on both Neo’s face and, it seemed, the wall behind him, at the same time.  “The Oracle was expecting you to come.  But she won’t see you now.”

Trinity felt her lips tighten, but Neo was less subtle:  “What?”

“You already know all you’re meant to know at the moment, Neo.  Your path will find you in its time.”  She turned to Trinity:  “keep an eye on this one, Trinity.  He’s in a hurry – watch he doesn’t run himself into his early grave.”  It may have been intended as a joke but it came out humourless, dry.  The hallway was swallowed by a quiet heavy enough to curdle on the skin.

“Best of luck to you both,” the woman said.  And the door closed.

“That was creepy,” Neo said.

“Yes,” Trinity said distractedly.  The woman’s words unsettled her strangely. Suddenly, resolved, she straightened sharply and squared her sunglasses over the bridge of her nose.  “Right,” she said, “let’s go then.”  

***

Trinity’s phone began to ring when they were in the elevator.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

Trinity shook her head.  “No, we have strict rules about using our phones within a certain distance from the Oracle.  Tank probably lost us on the monitors and was calling to find us again.  He can wait a few minutes.”  

Neo nodded.  “So – what happens now?”

“Go back to the ship.  From there. . . Zion, probably.  We’ll pick up a few more people there and then head back out to unplug the rest ourselves.”

“There are soldiers in Zion?  What are they doing there?”

“Waiting.  Most of them are survivors who have lost their crews for different reasons, so they wait there for new ships to be built, or to be needed by crews like ours.”

Trinity’s phone was still ringing, persistently, from her hip. 

“When can you answer that?” Neo asked.

“Not before we’re outside the building.”

“You’d think Tank would have figured out that you’re not answering.”

Trinity nodded, “Yeah.”  A moment later she pulled the phone out and turned it off.  “Enough of that.  He’ll find us once we’re out of the building.”

Outside, Trinity’s motorcycle was waiting where she had left it.  She switched her phone back on and pulled the keys from her inside pocket, then swung her leg over and went to start the ignition.  But a moment before the engine turned over, Neo laughed and touched her shoulder.  “Look,” he said, pointing.  Across the street, a middle-aged man in tarnished clothes stumbled along the sidewalk, one hand clutching the side of his head.  “Somebody around here’s been dealing some bad drugs,” Neo said, “that’s the second person I’ve seen like that today.”  He didn’t notice that Trinity had frozen on the bike, one hand tightly gripping the gun at her hip, all senses alert.  When she spoke, though, it caught his attention:  “Oh, shit.”  Then:  “You said you saw someone else like that?”

As if on cue, her phone began to ring.

“Tank?  Talk to me.”  She pulled one fingerless glove off her right hand and flexed it a few times, hearing the joints crack, and put it back on.

“Fuck, Trinity, I don’t know what happened.”  He sounded frantic.  “I had no clue they even knew you were in.  Neo had those close brushes earlier on but it didn’t look like they had seen him—”

Trinity exhaled sharply.  “All right, so we have Agents.  How many?”

“Three.  But there’s more.”

“Jesus.”

“Trinity, I’ve never seen them do this before.  It’s like they’ve plotted to trap you.”

“What?”

“They’ve cut every viable exit within… damn… five miles.”

“Goddammit.”

“I don’t know what to tell you—”

“I need to get off this phone, they’ll track it.  Just tell me where the nearest exit is.”

“Bath Road and Young, bottom of the alley.” 

“All right.  We’ll get there.”  She hung up and turned to Neo.  “How many Agents did you see on the way over here?”

“I – three.  But it didn’t look like they saw me.”

“Looks like they did.  And that guy—” she pointed to where they had seen the man stumbling on the sidewalk “—that was a host that an Agent had vacated.”

“They vacate their hosts?  I thought they just kept them until they were killed.”

“They vacate them when they have reason.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.  Neo, they’ve cut every hardline within five miles of us.  We have to get to Bath and Young.”  She started the engine of the bike, then tossed her phone down and promptly drove over it.  “Get on.  We’ve got to go.”

Neo held firmly to Trinity’s waist with one arm.  In his other hand he held the pistol from his boot, concealed beneath his sleeve.  Trinity felt him steady himself behind her, then gunned the engine and shot off into the street.  

The road was slightly less packed than it had been earlier, but it was still too busy for Trinity’s peace of mind.  Too many potential hosts.  But there was no way to get to the exit without either shooting through the busy area of downtown or adding four or five miles to their travel distance.  Abruptly, Neo tensed harshly against her back, his fist digging into her stomach.

“Are you all right, Neo?”

Silence for a moment.

“Neo?”

“Yeah – yeah, I’m fine.”  He relaxed.  “I just learned how to drive a motorcycle.”

Trinity smiled slightly to herself.  Thank you, Tank.  “Okay,” she said, “let’s get you a bike, then.”

“What, can Tank send me one?”

“No.  He needs a hardline for that.”

“Where, then?”

Her response was simply to speed up and point with her left hand.  Ahead of them, waiting for the light to change, was a middle-aged man on a red Yamaha motorcycle.  Neo got the hint.  Quickly, he pulled his feet up onto the seat with him, bracing himself against Trinity’s shoulder.  She heard him whisper “sorry, man,” just before he leapt off.  In her rearview mirror, Trinity saw Neo push the other man off his bike and an instant later heard him rev his engine and shoot off after her.  At the same time, though, she saw the man on the ground begin to twitch a little, and then a flash of electricity –

Oh, shit.

She moved faster than she could think, tugging her gun from its shoulder holster and firing back under her arm.  Instantly the people on the street around began to scream, some of them diving to the ground, others ducking into doorways.  But that didn’t matter to her – in the mirror, she saw the motorcyclist writhing on the ground, clutching at his leg, bloody from where she had shot him.  I just saved your life, she found herself thinking.  But he had been morphing when she shot him, there was no question.  Which meant one thing only – 

Here they came.

Neo was pacing her now, cruising to her left in the next lane, steering quite confidently with one hand as he tucked his pistol back into his boot and reached for the bigger gun strapped to his back.  Frantically, she scanned the roadside for an alley or a tunnel, anything that might pull them away from the busy main roads.  She found nothing.  And then there was the revving of a car engine behind them, and the sound of tires screeching on pavement.  A gunshot ripped through the air beside Trinity’s ear.  Instinctively she wheeled over to her right, to the side of the road.  In the corner of her eye she saw Neo shoot off to the other side.  Do it now, Neo.  This is your chance.  You know who you are.

As the Agent’s car pulled up to her left she swung her leg back over the bike and crouched down, balancing precariously on one footpeg and steering with one hand, using the bike’s steel engine as a shield.  She braced her shooting arm over the seat and the Agent’s head slid into her sights.  She fired but her bullet was met only with a blur of motion; the driver’s side window shattered as her shot went straight through the other side of the car.  And then she saw him turn and fix his gun on her, gaze robotically stoic.  She released the handlebars and took hold of the wheel fork, pulling herself lower beside the engine.  A shot fired.  But then she heard the grating sound of metal on pavement, the screech of car breaks.  Another gunshot, and more screeching noises.  Slowly, she let herself peek over the top of her bike and saw the car swerving erratically, the Agent fiercely gripping the steering wheel.  And then she saw Neo, on the other side of the car, perched as she was on one side of his bike, and she realised he had shot the tires out.  Immediately she pulled herself back up on top of the bike and turned to fire at the wheel on her side.  An explosion of sparks shot from where the wheel frame winced its way along the pavement, and then it hit a pothole and flipped the whole thing up onto its side.

Trinity allowed herself a moment’s exultation, but it was short; she turned her gaze to Neo just in time to see another Agent – this one on the sidewalk – take hold of the back of his bike and swing himself on.  She saw the Agent’s hands fix themselves around Neo’s neck, saw Neo’s hand reach back and plaster itself across the Agent’s face.  The Agent’s glasses broke.  She saw his earpiece come loose.  Her reaction was delayed but she moved fast, slowing and coming up behind Neo’s bike.  She could see Neo’s contorted expression as he tried to steer his bike and fend off the Agent at the same time.  Just cover his eyes, Neo. . .

Then she shot up beside them, fixed her gun to the Agent’s temple, and fired.  An old woman slid off and collapsed on the roadside.

“Are you okay?” Trinity yelled to Neo over the roar of the engines.

He rubbed his neck.  “Yeah, I’m fine, I – oh, shit!”

She looked ahead just in time to see the semi truck roll out into the roadway in front of them.  Neo was far enough over to be able to duck sideways and slide beneath the trailer, but Trinity would have to pass in front of the cab, somehow.

“There’s an alley to the left just on the far side of the truck,” she shouted to Neo, “get in there.”  There was no time to hear his reaction.  She pulled her feet up onto the seat in front of her and then moved up onto them, crouching on top of the bike, and just before colliding with the truck’s massive front tire, she jumped.  Time seemed to slow for an instant as she cleared the hood, diving across in front of the windshield and the Agent who sat there, and then caught her bike as it shot through the other side.  She landed hard on the bike, gouging her neck on the handlebar.  An instant later Neo shot through from under the trailer, bike tipped over to one side.  He saw her the moment he righted himself, and followed her pointed arm as she indicated the alleyway half a block up.  

“Dump your bike,” Trinity yelled, “ but leave the engine running.”  And in a fluid motion both bikes were tipped on their sides, two black figures sprinting into the maze between buildings, the sounds of their footsteps camouflaged by the sounds of the running motorcycles.  Trinity led Neo down to the end of the alley and then to the right, where a dumpster sat beneath a fire escape.  She made a motion whose meaning was obvious:  inside.  They could hear the footsteps of the Agents echoing up the alley.  Neo leapt in and curled into a corner.  Trinity leapt up and took hold of the fire escape’s pull-down ladder, drawing it down as far as she could, before releasing it and dropping into the dumpster beside Neo.  The ladder clanged loudly as it shot back up.

“The fire escape.”  The unmistakeable voice of an Agent.  Trinity grabbed a piece of soggy cardboard from beside her in the trash and used it to cover both herself and Neo as best as she could before the Agents were upon them.

They lay cramped and unmoving in the half-darkness of this makeshift shelter, Neo wedged between Trinity, a rather foul-smelling garbage bag, and the dumpster’s cold metal wall.  She tensed against him as they heard the fire escape ladder pulled down and three successive sets of feet sprinting up.  Beneath his chin, Neo could see the wide, bloody wound at the base of Trinity’s neck.  Carefully, so as not to shift the cardboard, he moved his hand to pinch the skin together and then pressed until the bleeding stopped.  The metallic footsteps echoed further and further up the side of the building, fading away as the Agents reached the rooftop.  Trinity didn’t move for several more seconds, so Neo kept still also.  Finally, she pushed the cardboard down just enough to peek over the top.  The fire escape was clear; no sign of Agents anywhere.  Then she shoved it away and sat up.  Before vaulting out of the dumpster, she lifted her hand to touch her neck.  There was still blood there, but the wound itself wasn’t bleeding.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem.”  Then, “Trinity?”

“Yeah?”

“Where does your name come from?”

The question hit Trinity like a blow to the gut.  “What?”

“Your name – how did you choose it?”

“I. . . don’t know.  It was just a word to me.  I liked the sound of it.  It felt right.”

“Ah.  Okay.”

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason.  Just – it suits you.”

Trinity let her eyes close for a moment behind her glasses.  “Thanks,” she said.  Then, “come on.  Let’s get the hell out of here.”

***

The exit was at the bottom of an old alleyway—an old rotary phone by the window in an abandoned low-rent basement apartment.  Trinity noticed, faintly, as they ran down the street, that it was a night that could have been beautiful; the air smelled sweet, saturated by a faint mist.  It kept the blood from drying, though, and she could feel it trickling down beneath her collar and along her spine.  Neo had a deep gash on the back of his hand and she watched him as he held it, pinching the broken skin together, cradled in front of his chest.  By their standards, though, this was almost comfortable, almost surreally comfortable.  Perhaps that’s why she neglected to catch his arm before they turned the corner, or perhaps it was just because she’d allowed herself to forget, for a few minutes, that Neo was a relative novice at all this.  A memory of Morpheus’ voice would echo through her head, later, when it was too late:  when the operator makes the call before you arrive, always scan the area of the hardline before you enter it.  

Instinctively, as they neared the edge of the building that marked where the alley was, Trinity slowed down, stepping closer to the wall, preparing to steal a glance into the passage.  She felt it then:  shit – déjà vu.  But before she could stop him and before he noticed, a fraction of a second later, that she wasn’t with him, Neo was already turning into the open space between the buildings.  

A shot rang out, and to Trinity, it seemed to mark the instant that time stopped.  As though through glass, she saw Neo clutch at his shoulder and wheel around, a sound like a cry ripped from his throat.  The bullet ricocheted off the pavement behind him.  

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard herself think, he’s hit — oh God, he’s hit.

And somewhere closer — but he’s not dead, the One can’t be dead.

But there was no thought at all that pre-empted the action that moved her next, more subtle than instinct, more intense than reaction.  Live in the moment.  This is my moment.  A fire trickled the length of her limbs, burning out the exhaustion and rejuvenating them.  It propelled her forward fast, inhumanly fast, until she felt her body collide with his, one hand raised to brace his head tight against her shoulder, the other poised to catch him square in the chest, knocking him to the ground.  And as the next shots were fired, she felt them all — one-two-three — lodging themselves in her back and staying there, and could have sobbed with relief that they hadn’t passed through her and into Neo.  Exit wounds ruptured her chest.  She felt no pain. 

They crashed, as one, to the floor of the gravel alleyway, the weight of Neo’s head shredding the back of Trinity’s hand against the sharp stones, but she didn’t feel that.  She kept herself square on top of him, head pressed in the crook of his neck and shoulder, willing him above all to keep still, to keep perfectly still.  Oh, for how long had she dreamed of being this close to him, how long had she waited, waited, waited for the right time…  Would it be too late, now?  Her free hand closed on the .45 strapped to Neo’s hip and froze there, trying to slow her breathing that wanted to come in gasps, and willing him to hold still.  She felt him dead motionless beneath her — stunned, probably — his breath soft against the base of her neck.  Distantly, she could feel hot blood pooling on her back.

 The Agent’s footsteps were maddeningly slow as they approached, calculated and precise, crunching in the gravel.  Trinity could feel him as he knelt down beside them, checking both their pulses.  And then, with what sounded almost like a sigh, he levelled his gun, slowly, at the back of her head, pressing the muzzle to the base of her skull.  With all her mind she willed Neo not to move.

The Agent’s pistol cocked.  “That was quite foolish of you, Ms—”

And, summoning her last ounce of adrenaline, she wrenched the magnum from Neo’s side and flipped over, knocking the gun from the Agent’s hand and firing, point-blank, into his forehead, all in one motion.  With a fizzle of electricity, the body of a homeless man collapsed over Neo’s legs.  

The pain descended upon Trinity like an anvil as she lay on her back in the dirt.  With a choking gasp like something beaten from her chest, her grip loosened on the gun.  And then Neo was there, kneeling beside her, touching her face, her neck, gingerly, as though afraid to break her.  Somewhere in the distance, the phone was still ringing, persistently.

“What was that?  What the hell did you just do?”  Neo tried to sound composed but his voice failed him, cracking at the last second.  Her blood pooled beneath her, trails of it reaching out to touch knees. 

“My glasses,” she whispered.  Gently, he eased them off her face, and then pulled off his own.  And for the first time, he saw her eyes looking unguarded, without that hint of defensiveness that lurked there even in the real world.  

“Neo, I need to tell you something—” she inhaled sharply and coughed, blood wetting her lips.  Neo wiped it away with his thumb, then gently, so gently, lifted her against his chest, bringing her face closer to his ear so he could hear her barely-audible whisper.  She smiled weakly and he felt something break inside him — he had never seen her smile before.

“The Oracle told me that I would fall in love,” she breathed, “and that the man I loved would be the One.  So you see why I couldn’t let you die — because I love you… I love you, so I know you’re the One.”  Weakly she tried to raise her hand to touch him, but her strength failed her and it fell.  Neo caught it and lifted it to his face, pressing her palm to his cheek.  She smiled again, struggling to keep her eyes open, praying to hear the words she wanted to hear before she let go — I love you too, Trinity.  But Neo was silent over her, tears running down his face as he held her tighter.  She had no more strength to speak.  Say it, Neo, she willed, say it, please, I need to hear it.  But he was silent.  And then she couldn’t hold on anymore, her eyes closed, and the pain faded.

***

Neo was crying over Trinity, holding her close and crying and the only thoughts that came coherently to his head were I love you too, Trinity, I love you too but the Oracle said I’m not the One and it should have been me who died, it should have been me who died, it should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me it should have been me it should have been me. . . .  But he couldn’t make his mouth work to speak.

He could feel it seeping out of him.  His hands… one against her back, one supporting her head.  Blood – her blood – a thick film over his skin, a glove on his fingers.  Her pulse beating in her neck, beneath his fingertips.  Slower, slower. . . .  Not gone.  Not gone!  No!  Where – there!  He found it again, moving his fingers just a little.  Weak, but still there.

You can’t die on me, Trinity.  

 His hands pressed harder against her cold, clammy skin.  

You can’t die, Trinity, it should have been me, let me die instead.  Let me die instead, I’m nobody, I’m nobody and you’re everything. . . . the resistance needs you, it should have been me, you can’t die. . . .  

 ingertips burning.  Burning!  Goddamn, they’re hot!  Her pulse – there, there it was, still there . . . stronger!  
He shifted her to hold her against him with one arm, his free hand moving to her chest to feel the clipped rise-and-fall of her breathing.  His still-burning fingertips pressed just below the hollow of her throat.  Felt her gasp, sucking in a sudden jolt of air, eyes still closed, like she hadn’t noticed she’d done it.  Felt a jolt to his own chest, his lungs unwilling to fill, the air coming halfway down before he choked on it and coughed it back up.  

 It should have been me.  

Tears, tears still on his face as he pressed his hand harder to her chest, felt her breathe again, her heartbeat stronger still.  Muscles twitched in her shoulders.  

It should have been me.  

Felt himself growing weaker, weaker.  His arms wanted to give out.  Felt her breathing stronger now, normal.  Hands still burning.  Slowly, so slowly he laid her down.  Lay her down before you drop her, Neo.  

It should have been me. . . .  
Her heart.  Beating properly now.  His muscles, gone weak, too weak to hold him.  He collapsed slowly beside her, stretched out.  His head came to rest on her stomach.  He could feel it moving as she breathed, in and out, in and out, stronger and stronger.  

It should have been me, Trinity, it should have been me.  

***

Morpheus stood next to Trinity, gaze fixed on her bio-monitors, as he waited for her flicker of a pulse to fade away, and the flatline alarm to sound.  He held himself there, resolutely upright, as he felt a tear slide along the side of his nose.  She was dying, she was as good as dead.  And he realised that he had come to take her for granted, that she would always be there, the best fighter, at his side.  But hers would be a hero’s death, he reminded himself.  She died to save the One, she took bullets to save the world.  And she would be remembered.  By God, he thought, she’ll be remembered.  I’ll see to it she’s always—

 Morpheus blinked, and everything changed.  What was — her patterns were picking up, they were accelerating!  He grasped her wrist and in his hand and sure enough, her pulse beat beneath his fingertips, stronger and stronger. 

“Oh, shit, Morpheus,” Tank called from his seat, “we’ve got problems.”

“What?”

“Look at Neo’s display.”

Morpheus released Trinity’s wrist and whipped around to see Neo’s monitor, to see the patterns weakening, shrinking as Trinity’s continued to grow.

“What the hell’s going on?” Tank said a little too loud, “things are going crazy in there!”

“He’s the One,” Morpheus said, though not even he could pretend that made sense of things.

***

Trinity felt her breathing become less laboured.  The pain faded completely away.  I’m dead, she thought.  That’s the end.  But then she tested her limbs and felt them move against gravel, she closed her hands and felt blood against her fingertips.  Something heavy rested on her stomach.  She opened her eyes to the black dampness of the night, then licked her lips and tasted blood.  But I can’t be—

Her hand came up to touch the weight on her stomach, and her fingertips met hair and cold skin.  Instantly she sat up and pulled him with her, Neo’s form going more and more limp in her arms as she felt herself becoming stronger.  

“No, Neo!”  She took him by the shoulders and shook him gently, hoping to get his attention, to make him stop.  “Neo, you can’t do this to yourself—”

He opened his mouth a little, and Trinity bent her ear to his lips, struggling to hear him.  “It should have been me,” he whispered.  His eyes fell closed and his body went lax against her.  

***

Breathing became too hard.  He stopped.  Felt his heart go still in his chest.  Let the numbness creep in along his limbs, slithering toward his core.

Neo knew he was dead.

***

Trinity couldn’t react.  Couldn’t move.  For a moment she just froze there, holding him against her.  Stunned.  Her mouth opened, “But—”  But what?  Her throat constricted.

“Goddammit, Neo!” she pounded his chest.  He didn’t react.  Her hand drifted to his neck to touch his pulse, then pulled back at the last instant.  

The phone continued to ring at the end of the alley.  

Something like a low growl escaped Trinity’s throat.  She pulled herself to her feet, lifting Neo with her and leaning him, upright, against the wall.  Then she turned and hoisted him onto her back, feeling his head as it lolled against her shoulder, forcing herself to ignore that she couldn’t feel his breath on her skin.  And then she set him down again, against the wall, at the end of the alley.  She reached for the phone—

The cell phone rang in Neo’s pocket.  Trinity groaned, then reached and pulled it out.  

“What?” she said harshly into the mouthpiece.

Tank’s voice was soft at the other end of the line.  “You need to get yourself out,” he said.

“Neo first.”

“He’s gone, Trinity, and the Agents are coming back.  You need to get yourself out—”

“He’s not gone,” Trinity said flatly, thumping the side of the building with the heel of her hand as though that would make a difference.  

“He’s—”

“He’s not gone.”  She turned to Neo’s body where it slumped against the building, and took hold of one of his shoulders.  “You’re not dead, dammit!”  Her voice faltered.  “You can’t be dead,” she said more softly, pulling the phone away from her ear for a moment.  “I love you,” she whispered.

“Look, Trinity,” Tank’s voice was desperate on the other end of the line.  In the background, Trinity could hear the flatline alarm.  “He’s dead,” Tank insisted, “we fucked up again.  So pick up the phone and get out, the Agents will be there--”

“I’ll get out of here after Neo does.”  She hung up the cell and tossed it behind her, ignoring it when it started to ring again.  Her hand extended to the hardline, grasping the receiver and pressing it to Neo’s ear.  As he vanished, she heard footsteps behind her.  She didn’t need to turn to see who it was.

Trinity dove through the window, receiver in hand, and cowered against the wall beneath the phone table.  A bullet flew in over her head as she reached up to place the phone back in its cradle.  Almost instantly it started to ring again, and as she stretched for it an Agent’s arm with a gun came through the window at her.  The last thing she heard before she vanished was the sound of a shot fired.  

***

The air became light and heavy at the same time, liquid and swirling almost beyond Neo’s reach.  The weight of the real world and the feather-lightness of the Matrix, together – not a medium between them, but both at the same time, pulling at him.  He felt himself sliding out of his body.

But he was still there, in the alley, outside of himself, watching through the eyes of his own body but somehow detached from it.  Through a smokescreen.  Trinity cradled him for a moment – he didn’t feel that.  Her lips moving, saying something.  He couldn’t hear it.  He watched her mouth, trying to read it, but he couldn’t focus, everything was hazy.  Colours and shapes blurring together.  

He could see her as she took his body by the shoulders and thumped his chest, his head rocking back –

-- He was on the Nebuchadnezzar in his chair, flatline alarm sounding over his head --

-- and rocking forward against his chest --

-- He was with Trinity again, in the alley.  She had lifted his body, now, and was pulling it onto her back.  He couldn’t feel himself but he could sense her, muscles straining under his weight.  Why?  Everything was light, so light and thin, so airy and wispy.  He wanted to laugh, tried to laugh but his dead body wouldn’t answer him.  There is no spoon, Trinity!  There is no spoon!

His consciousness blinked; everything went black for an instant.

And then it was black and green, everything black and made up of coursing green symbols, the code coming to life before his eyes.  He was up, now; away from his body and above everything, looking down.  He could see the phone ringing, he could see the simple, barely-moving code that was his own limp body, he could see the flowing, pulsing, changing code that was the living Trinity.  Symbols, racing symbols, that’s all it was, and it was wrong, so horribly wrong and unreal.  

Instantly he could feel himself – not his dead RSI or his body but the essence himself – existing, there, as this floating consciousness, watching the whole scene.  

Morpheus’ voice:  the mind makes it real.

Trinity’s voice:  the Matrix isn’t real! 

There is no fucking spoon.

It was rushing around him, rushing and flowing, heavy and light.  He sought to grasp something, anything, something fixed that he could latch onto and use as an anchor, to put himself back in himself.  He could see Trinity taking hold of his limp form, holding a cell phone away from her ear.  I love you, he saw her say in the code, though he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t hear.  He wanted to hear!  Hear her with his own ears, in the real world.  The Matrix isn’t real!  Trinity picked up the exit and pressed it to his ear and he watched the code that made up his RSI vanish, line by line, into the void.  In a desperate effort he reached down, stretched his metaphysical self and latched on to the very end of it, feeling himself sucked through the phone line.

***

The flatline alarm rang from Neo’s bio-display, and Morpheus couldn’t keep from groaning in frustration as he watched the revived Trinity press the receiver to the ear of Neo’s RSI.  Neo was dead, there was nothing to be accomplished by sending it back to his body, and she was risking herself again—

The alarm stopped.

Morpheus turned quickly to see Neo, blinking, barely awake in his chair and already tugging at his restraints.

***

Trinity was choking.  The first thing her body did as it re-awoke was to heave up a mouthful of blood, head turning just enough to retch over the side of the chair.  And then there was the pain – the searing, burning ache that radiated from the wounds in her back and stomach that hadn’t healed in the real world.  She was flinching before she even opened her eyes, her face crumbling around the edges, blood-coated teeth gritted against the agony.  Something touched her cheek.  The light hurt when she forced her lids open, but she recognized Neo instantly, backlit from the halogen.  She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice broke into a cry as she inhaled and no words would come out.

And then Morpheus was there, his firm hand on her brow, pulling the plug out of her head.  “We have to get her to the infirmary, right away,” he said.  And before the captain got the chance, Neo picked up Trinity’s writhing form and whisked it down the hall, her blood staining the sleeves of his sweater.  

“Lay her on her stomach,” Morpheus said quickly as he stepped to the sink and began to wash up, sleeves rolled up above his elbows.  Neo helped Trinity to lie forward, arms at her sides, and was amazed at how she didn’t make a sound, not a sound, though her grey shirt was made purplish-brown from her blood and her hands were clenched in unbreakable fists, fingernails nails digging into her palms.  

Morpheus had crossed the room and was in the process of drawing something into a syringe, and Neo stood idly by, feeling useless.  He stepped to the sink and washed his hands.

“I’m going to need your help,” Morpheus said quietly, brow knitted as he measured out the anaesthetic.

“Anything.”

“Good.  We have to get her shirt off,” he said, without looking over.

And Neo hesitated.

“I need you to do that, Neo,” Morpheus said, “I need to keep my hands clean to administer the anaesthetic.  Just cut it open down the back—use those scissors, there—because she isn’t going to want to move her arms.”

When he caught sight of her back, Neo fought down the urges to vomit and to cry.  It should have been me.  Perhaps it was the relative simplicity of the wounds that bothered him so intensely—he had braced himself for flesh the consistency of ground meat, shredded and bloody.  But instead all he saw were three bullet holes, in a neat triangle, at the centre of her back, blood pulsing out, a few inches below her shoulder blades.  Three bullet holes that were in her back instead of his.

“One of our little Matrix confusions,” Morpheus said bemusedly, “is why the mind makes real the injuries that are sustained in the Matrix, but not the healing.”  He touched the point of the syringe to the plug just below Trinity’s right shoulder-blade.  “Do you still want to help?”

“Yes.”

“All right.  Go tell Tank to upload you the Medical program, disk seven.  I’d like you to upload the rest at some point, but that should suffice for this task.”

And Neo nodded before heading back to the Core to become a doctor.  This would have taken me years, in the old world. . . and now it’s a couple of keystrokes.  He let himself laugh to keep from crying.

***

Trinity awoke to the feeling of company, not alone in the darkness.  Her mouth was dry and papery, her eyes nearly sealed shut with sleep.  The sensation in her back was distant, detached, like it was part of somebody else’s body.  She brought her hand to her eyes, wiping them, before attempting to open them.

“Try to keep your arms still to keep from stretching the stitches.”

Trinity smiled in spite of herself.  “So you’ve uploaded the medical programs.”  

“Some of them.”  Neo rose from where he had been sitting on the floor, and came to sit on the edge of her bed.  “If you can sit up, I have water for you.”

Rising was painful, but not as unbearable as the initial agony of the bullet wounds.  It was tolerable.  And the water soothed her dry mouth.  “How long did all that take?” she asked.

“Not long.  It’s only been a few hours since. . . .” He looked away.

Trinity looked down.  “And you’re okay?” 

He held his hands out before him, palms up, flipping them over and back as though that were the only part of him that could have been injured.  “Just fine,” he said.  She nodded.  

They sat for a few minutes in silence, Trinity holding the empty cup in her lap.

“I should let you sleep,” he said finally.

Trinity nodded.  “Yeah.”  He took the cup from her and rose to the door.

A myriad of questions pulsed through her, insecurities, uncertainties.  Why couldn’t she ask him?  What had happened?  Did he—

“What happened to you?” she threw into the dark, suddenly.  His hand was on the latch when her voice came at him, freezing him there in the doorway.  He turned.

“When?”

“After I was shot… Did you—” die?  Did you die? Did you die for me?  She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question, but the glint in his eye, the black speck of frightened confusion, that said it all.  That he understood what she was saying—and that the answer was yes.  

“God, Neo,” she lifted her eyes to a point on the wall, somewhere over the doorframe, and shook her head slowly, side to side.  “You shouldn’t have done that—”
“Trinity—” his voice was thin, pained, before she interrupted him:

“—but thank you.”  She met his eyes.  “You shouldn’t have done it.  But since you did, thank you.”  And her tone was genuine, her thanks heartfelt.  Neo could only nod numbly.

“Do you believe, now?” she asked, finally.

“Yeah.”  He ran a hand over his head.  “I . . . I’m the One.”  He exhaled slowly.

And she felt a thrill in her chest like a butterfly, the overwhelming consequences of what that meant.  He nodded once, as though affirming himself.  “I’m the One,” he repeated, before waiting a moment and then turning back to the door.  But he couldn’t bring himself to open it, not yet.  He turned around again.

“I’ve been trying for hours to figure out whether I should apologize or thank you,” he said quietly.

“I did what I had to do,” Trinity said without looking over.

“But did you mean it when you—”

“Yes.”  If Neo noticed the tremor in her voice, he made no indication of it.

“Trinity, I . . . .”  He reached for the back of his neck, touching the plug, and shuddered.  His hand wrenched away and he made himself lift his eyes.  Three bullets in her back instead of his chest.  The guilt threatened to overwhelm him.  She lay on her back, now, staring fixedly at some point in the ceiling, arms crossed over her stomach, unmoving.  Like a corpse – the thought came unbidden to his mind.  And something cracked.

In two strides he was back beside her, fallen to his knees, reaching for her hand; the tin cup clattered to the floor.  “Three bullets, Trinity,” he choked out, “three bullets,” his voice breaking, face pinched and crumbling. Behind his eyes all he could hear was the sound of gunfire, three shots in succession, like a crooked pulse, over and over, over and over, over and over, throbbing against his temples.  

Her eyes – closed, then opened again, fixed on the unblinking ceiling.  “Anyone would have—”

“That’s not true and you know it.”  He clung to her hand with both of his, desperately, as to a lifeline that he prayed would keep him from drowning.

She kept silent.  She saw that he realized, then; he remembered and he knew.  His fingertips bruised her palm. 

“I love you,” he said finally, his voice a throaty whisper.  Her eyes moved to meet his and he looked broken, like the weight of the universe had fallen upon his shoulders and so much depended on how she reacted.  Sitting up was painful, again, but she did it anyway; her fingertips reached to brush the skin just below his ear, and she smiled at him.  He fell gratefully against her, face pressed into the side of her neck, careful not to squeeze too hard.  They just held each other, unmoving, for a long time, until Trinity pulled back and found his mouth with hers.  When they kissed, finally, it felt to Neo like he’d been drawn onto a sandy beach, the waves lapping at his toes but no longer threatening to suffocate him.  And all Trinity could hear as she clung to him was his voice echoing in her mind, it should have been me, as he had drained his life into her.  She made space for him on her narrow bed and they clutched at each other, holding each other close as they slept.

***

Trinity woke too early the next morning, the burning of her back reduced to a much more subtle ache.  It was bearable.  Neo slept soundly still, pressed to her side, so she moved slowly, trying not to wake him, as she rose.  She was nearly successful – just standing up – when he stirred, rolling to where she had been.  His eyes snapped open when he realized she wasn’t there.

“Trinity?”  His voice was thick with sleep.

“I’m here,” she said, standing at the edge of the bed.  She touched his knee.

“The lights aren’t even on yet – are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Neo.  I’ll be right back.”

“Wha – where are you going?”  The nervousness in his voice made her want to laugh, like he was afraid she had changed her mind and he’d never see her again once she closed the door behind her.

In her hand, she held the foil cigarette package.  She held it out, now.  “Boiler room.”

For a moment a flicker of something like sadness crossed his eyes, then vanished.  “Oh . . . can I come with you?”

She smiled.  “Sure, if you want.  I really won’t be long, though.  I’ll be right back.”  But he was already sitting up, legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes.  He pulled on his boots without doing them up. 

In the boiler room, Neo moved to sit down where he’d been the last time, against the wall.  It was colder this time, since the ship was asleep, and there was no steam; he could see clearly as Trinity pulled the can from its hiding place, holding it in one hand, cigarettes in the other.  Then she went to the incinerator, opened the door, and dropped it all inside.  

“Done with that,” she said, rubbing her palms against the sides of her pants.  She turned to Neo, who looked confused, sitting on the floor.  Then he understood, and he smiled.  He took her hand when she held it out to him, and stood up.  “Let’s go back to bed,” Trinity said, weaving her fingers through his as she pulled him close to her, “it’s too early to be up.”   

***

They stood in the middle of a crowded intersection, unarmed.  Waiting, watching the people pass by.  After a few minutes Neo took of his sunglasses and began to meet the gazes of each of the passers-by, holding their eyes for a few seconds.  Trinity did the same.

“You’re ready for this,” Trinity said flatly, without looking at him.

He nodded.  “Yes.  I’m ready.”  A pause.  “Thank you for coming with me,” he added.

Very briefly, she reached over and brushed his palm with her gloved fingertips.  “You’re welcome.”  Then she pulled back.  “Somebody will morph soon.  He’ll come.”

He appeared behind them, but Neo sensed it anyway, grabbing Trinity by the shoulder and wheeling them around just in time to see the body of a flower vendor morph into—

“Agent Smith,” Neo said, his voice round and confident.  Trinity recognized him as the Agent from the alley.

Agent Smith stepped closer to them, gun in hand.  He almost appeared to be smiling.  “You have eluded me twice now, Mister Anderson,” he said, “but you seem to be waiting for me here, and I believe, as the saying goes, ‘third time’s the charm.’”  He levelled his gun and fired.  

The code appeared instantly before Neo’s eyes, the coursing, unreal green.  His arms crossed in front of his chest.  “No.”  The bullets stopped, then turned in place and took off, again, planting themselves in the Agent’s chest.  “That’s three bullets in your chest this time, mutherfucker.”  In the code, Neo could see Smith as he attempted to vacate his host.  It was then, in that moment, that he could see it, see the essential code of the Agent itself, and in that instant he reached out, latched onto it, and broke it, deleting the whole thing, strand by strand.

Trinity was grinning when Neo let his vision refocus, losing the code.  “So,” she said, “is that the end of him?”

“Yeah.  That’s the end of him.”
 
***

Slowly, we learn to think beyond today, beyond tomorrow.  The future begins to open before us, spreading wider and thinner, like an inverted funnel.  Our worlds become less static, now; we open to each other a little, just a little.  Perhaps we can be close, now.  When we can conceive of life beyond the horizon, perhaps we can begin to believe in those beyond ourselves.  Perhaps the world isn’t bleak and flat, after all.  

In the dark, we find each other with our eyes closed.  Hands outstretched, we reach for each other, stretching towards something that is not ourselves.

Sometimes we touch each other.