A Strange Quickening...

Hey guys I'm really excited this site existed n seeing your entries I figured I jus gotta try my own...wrote a few stories in my time but not in a forum!...my story's inspired by Highlander n Matrix n thus is completely fictional...pls forgive any copyright breaches! :p

It was night in New York City, and the park near the river was surprisingly quiet for a weekend. Nobody was around; not even the usual hobos or hippies or drug abusers...
And two men, dressed in coats and prowling the river's edge seemingly nonchalantly. even in the shadows' darkness however it was clear to both men that each was eyeing the other. They stopped at arm's length, their intentions clear to each other by now. They had been drawn here by an ancient practice, an instinct that they had no way of escaping...they were immortals, far older than the city itself, trapped in a horrible game far older than even themselves...for tonight only one of them was walking away alive.
They drew swords now, from the convenient cover their light coats provided. One had a medieval longsword from his short, stout body, his British features clear behind his thick moustache and short-clipped ginger hair. The other was a large man, with dark, long hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was well built n muscular, with an almost boyish face. it was anything but boyish now as he drew his ivory-hilted katana from his coat. His mouth opened in challenge.
"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
"Ian Summers; Highlander...let's get this over with." His opponent was to the point.

The clash of swords carried easily over the still waters. The small battle being fought was loud but largely unheard in the empty park, as they had chosen their meeting place well. unfortunately nowhere in New York was ever empty. An old man who lived much of his life in the streets woke up in the bushes not far from where they fought; his slumber disturbed by the hubbub. he raised his head intending to scream a few choice curses...then forgot the use of his mouth as he beheld the fierce life-and-death struggle between the two men. he gaped, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled for words to say, things to do...
...and at the same instant, miles away in the same city, a suited, 30-odd man stood with 2 other similarly dressed men looking at a pile of bricks and rubble:smashed remnants of what used to be a wall. they wore rectangular frameless sunglasses-a strange sight at night. They were slightly balding too, their hair neatly gelled back in the same fashion. all in all they looked uncomfortably too similar.
"...She got away."
"It doesn't matter. The informant is real." he said, forcing nonchalence. He was supposed to work closely with them, but he felt strangely compelled to distance himself from them.
"We have the name of their target."This was a surprise...
"Then we need to have a search going..."
"There's already one underway." One said as they turned away, leaving him to contemplate the rubble a little longer. There was what remained of a phone booth too in the wreckage...
"...His name is Neo."
At that point, the man was seized by a summons, a strange disturbance transmitted through the earpiece he and the other "agents" wore. This was no call from superiors or operators...it was a direct signal only he could hear and understand...transmitted somewhere else in New York. He creased his eyebrows and accepted the information download. In an instant he was there no longer;a truck driver suddenly taking the place where he stood, collapsing in a dead faint...
The hobo suddenly jerked where he lay, a new horror gripping him. The emotion wasn't the only thing rushing through his body. He began to contort in impossible ways-his skin rippling. he screamed a silent scream as he felt his very body and mind being invaded...someone else forced into him! a face superimposed itself on his and they pulled away from each other...then snapped back as what was once the hobo disappeared into the new entity...the very suited man himself! He stood, straightened his tie, and looked coolly over at the two men locked in combat a distance away....

...To be Continued...

this isnt a bad story. are you going to write part 2?

...Meanwhile the fight was not going well for Summers. He was a good fighter, there wasn't a doubt about that, but this man was faster. He wasn't that much stronger but knew exactly where to put his strength where it helped. He sweated profusely and began to pant. The battle moved all over the small turf near the edge of the river, and he found himself pushed slowly but surely against it.
As for MacLeod he was in his element. Every attack was countered easily, every defence flawless. He hadn't spent 4 hundred years learning nothing...in fact even now he entered a form of battle Zen he had only just begun to master. Everything seemed to slow down:the swords could actually be tracked as they sliced the air, the beads of loose sweat glimmering as they dance a delicate dance to the ground...he could almost swear he could see the air ripple around the blades...
Then he was shocked back into "real time" by the sounds of a series of powerful shots. A Desert Eagle!-he dodged, just in time...were those actually trails of rippling air marking the paths of the bullets?! He slammed hard onto the ground, tucking himself further into a roll that carried him safely behind cover of a short concrete wall.
Ian Summers could hardly be so lucky. 4 rounds slammed into his chest, smashing him into the air. He lost his sword as he landed hard at the river's edge, then through sheer momentum, toppled right over. The splash could be heard quite clearly soon afterward.
"Mr MacLeod!"
The voice was malevolent, more evil than most voices he had ever heard. He had heard more than a few in his time for sure but this was different...more powerful, confident in every word and intention. He stood up, ready to spring for his assailant (he quite definitely heard 7 shots) but froze mid-way.
He wasn't quite what MacLeod expected...an almost middle-aged man in a suit and tie, with shades and neatly combed-back hair. He looked like any other unknown government man-types...except something about him gave MacLeod the chills. He was walking slowly over, never slowing, never pausing; his steps confident. But something in his manner...whatever he was, he somehow wasn't...human, and not even Immortal for that matter. MacLeod had seen alot of strange things but such an entity...suddenly he had a strange feeling he didn't want to know wat sort of eyes lay behind those rectangular shades...maybe Summers was the lucky one after all...
The man had coolly thrown his gun aside. He stopped a few steps from Duncan and seemed to regard him for a moment.
"Mr MacLeod...yes I've heard of you." He spoke slowly, almost in a drone.
"Aye well I've never heard of you."
"Of course you haven't. I'm Smith. Agent Smith. I know things about you that you cannot even know yourself."
He regarded his still-clenched sword and smiled.
"I know all about your..."games"...you see Mr MacLeod I'm here to put an end to your adventures. I am...a form of control, if you will, to your disruptive little experiment."
"What? What are you saying?" He was incredulous. This Smith knew about the Immortals?! But he didn't look like a Watcher...nor was he an immortal too...but again he had a feeling that whatever this man was, the truth could be more horrifying to know.
"You and your..." Smith regarded the spot where Summers fell. "...kind, are a form of experiment. A controlled series of anomalies created and programmed to take place in a controlled environment. I'm glad those parameters have still been met." He kept his eyes on MacLeod's never leaving him. He didn't find all that talk about programming comfortable either...but this man seemed to be more literal than he believed. "...But. I'm afraid, Mr MacLeod that your activities have frankly gone on for too long. You've actually become quite a threat to the system...especially since we believe all that can be learned from you folk has been gained."
"...What are you saying?" Duncan felt a sickening feeling in his gut.
Smith merely turned to walk to where Summer's sword lay. He seemed interested in it..."I am saying, Mr MacLeod, that everything we've placed in you-every memory about your earlier few hundred years of life have been false. Clever created, but false nonetheless. It was interesting observing all of your kind's collective "experiences"...it was worth the trouble of all those previous lives used to create them." He stopped at the sword and picked it up, apparently examining it. The look on his face was far from that of admiration or appreciation. "...Unfortunately we've learned quite long ago that this period of time...the era before AI;man's greatest pinnacle till his fall, is what we'll need for our Matrix, and any that comes after."
A chill passed through Duncan as he heard his words. Matrix? AI? Who were this "We" he spoke of? What he was saying...it was insane! He whipped his katana up, bringing the point up close to his chin. He didn't know why, but something told him he didn't want to listen impassively anymore and wait for whatever he was going to do. "Listen you. Either you tell me what you want or get lost. Heck you can do both."
Smith merely raised an eyebrow. He didn't do the same with his eyes though and continued casually inspecting the sword; bringing it up to the light.
"Ah. To the point. And smart too. I like that. That's why I've been trying my best all this time to track your actions. Also-" He looked up from the corners of his eyes. "...Why I shot him, instead."
He brought his whole body around to face him then, the sword lowered but still gripped firmly. He tilted his head backwards and to the side so he looked at Duncan from a condescending angle. "My point then, is this. Your existence is no longer of any use. Indeed you've become a hindrance to the system. You, more than the others in fact, have been deemed a threat and I've been slated to end your existance. Believe me, you are more Mortal than you think. In other words:" His body almost imperceptively shifted, suddenly becoming hostile. Though a thousand unanswered questions hung in his head MacLeod shifted as well, reacting to the imminent threat. As Smith continued.
"...I'm going to enjoy watching you die...Mr MacLeod."
Then he lunged.

...To be Continued.
Tks for sticking around! Pls gimme more feedback if ya feel there's something u should say or maybe a few suggestions I might add?

OMFG. That was THE BEST bit of writing I have ever read. That totally had me. My 2 favourite movies combined so elegantly. I don't want Duncan to die Please no..............

Keep it up, I am having withdrawals as I'm typing.

love ya, you made my total day and night,

UT

Got to agree with UT on that one. Macleod- gimme more!

this story has to go on. i was never a big highlander fan, but i wanna know what happens to this guy. please write more.

...here it is!! sorry fer making u wait so long...was down wif the flu and had so little energy...didn't know I had so many people waiting!...

5 seconds later, MacLeod knew he was in trouble.
MacLeod was first and formost a warrior:he had been born and bred as one. Thus he could read a person's fighting styles, his emotions as he fought...all crucial to overcoming one's opponent. This was different though. Smith was deceptively fast and powerful-how could he move so much at that age-with that outfit? He was definitely not Immortal-Duncan would have sensed it earlier. He didn't at first seem to fight like one though...he had no finesse nor style...jus a brutal, straightforward push at his defenses. Granted he didn't have any as a result, but he was so fast...so powerful...Duncan had to pull the deepest tricks in his bag jus to get an attack through. When he did though it was countered quickly and forcefully...almost with inhuman speed. Or was that so unlikely?
MacLeod knew that opponents anywhere like Smith had a tendency to be overpowering but extended their strength, tiring themselves out. But as he dodged the sixth murderous swing at his head in as many seconds he noted that in the 2 minutes that had passed Smith didn't seem to be getting any more tired. In fact he wasn't even sweating! Already tired from his previous battle MacLeod was drenched and hard-fought to keep his focus...all that remained after fighting such a hard opponent was his 4 hundred years of hard training and discipline...but were they true? Did they exist?
-No! Already as he dwelled on such doubts his movements seem to slow, to be clumsy. His strength seemed to ebb...then he narrowly missed another swipe that threatened to tear his arm off...only to miss a move he didn't expect: a savage kick that spun him around an axis sideways. For a disbelieving moment he spun completely in the air...then took a punch to the gut that sent him sailing backwards into a tree. He landed hard then by reflex spun onto his feet, immediately meeting the next onslaught of slashes. Disturbingly he noted 2 things:one that Smith was amazingly hard to read. He showed no emotion of satisfaction or victory...jus a grim determination if possible. second and most disturbing:he was learning-picking up skill and finesse at an astonishing trick. Every move Duncan pulled Smith returned in kind...and his repertiore included impossible moves even MacLeod couldn't pull off. He was breathing hard now...how long would this possibly take?
-Another one! That nearly took his head off...except it nicked his ear and opened a few vessels. He took his mind off the pain from that and a few more deeper wounds on his body that were quickly healing and wondered for an instant what Smith meant about "being more mortal" than he thought. Did he know Immortals could only be killed by beheading? Or was he hinting deeper knowledge?
Yet as he fought MacLeod too was learning anew. He started in his desperate drive for survival to see the battle with a clarity that pushed his boundaries for his ability to focus. Things began slowing down in a familiar fashion and he seized the oppurtunity to read his opponent's moves more closely...
-There:an opening! For all he was Smith was still a humanoid with one sword...MacLeod took the chance and dove in, expertly parrying a counter thrust and bringing his hilt up instantly driving it into his opponent's face. He took it but was seemingly unfazed...yet he staggered a little and broke off just slightly from the fight. Taking the new oppurtunity MacLeod launched into a vicious swing at his arm intended to separate Smith from his sword...but to his surprise he met no resistance. As the sword clattered onto the ground he realised an instant later that Smith had purposely abandoned his weapon. He looked up only to recieve a double-fisted punch that doubled him over, then another that sent him sailing backward again into a group of bushes.
He hit the ground hard, rolling to a dazed stop. As he fought to retain his consciousness he realized alarmingly that he had lost his katana somewhere during the fall...he cursed himself for the fatal mistake. No warrior should ever let himself part with his weapon if he wanted to live...he squinted through watery eyes for his sword.
Smith paused, grimacing. He looked back down at his sword then with a look of distaste picked it up and strode over to Duncan MacLeod. He seemed to be grovelling-no more correctly fumbling for his lost weapon. A pity. His foot landed on it an instant before Duncan's hand did and he kicked it away. He heard the Immortal mutter a stifled "No" and watched him just kneel there, at a loss of what to do. Pathetic...he raised his sword and prepared to strike.
MacLeod was beaten, defeated. His weapon gone and his body too broken to repair itself in time to fight on. Yet as he kneeled there though preparing for the final strike he thought back on his memories of the last 4 hundred years. Of the people he had beheaded, had seen beheaded. Of those he loved and hated. The sense of meaning that had drove him to keep fighting all these years...because deep down he knew he was a survivor. That all those memories meant something. How was he to let what somebody said take that away from him...how could he let someone who wasn't even an Immortal take his head?!
With that MacLeod tapped upon a reserve of strength within himself he did not realise he had...he once more began to feel time slowing to a crawl...clarity and power return to his fogged mind and tired muscles. Somehow Smith seemed to sense it and he brought his sword down in an inhuman speed...almost like he was bending time and physics himself. Still MacLeod dug deeper into his soul; out-willing Smith himself and triggering a memory, long ago...of his age-old mentor and friend, Conner MacLeod. A friend he was forced to kill and his memories thus absorbed...he remembered a similar situation faced by Conner some time ago...of a marauding Immortal about to cut his defenceless self down. He said only one thing then:"You have already lost"...
"-No." Was all Duncan said. Then he stood up, meeting the sword's descent...and twisted around it, his hands clasped around Smith's and wrenching it from his grasp. A moment later Smith was off-balance and realising he was disarmed...only to see his sword returning on its wide arc in a full circle back to his neck...
Duncan dropped the sword. Then he fell to his knees. Smith's headless body followed soon after. He once again entered the dazed state he always had after surviving a hard-fought battle, or realising he was alive...and waited, almost wistfully, for a quickening.
To his surprise, one came. The winds whipped and swirled with an unnatural ferocity. Lightning converged on the body and crackled menacingly around it...and in its pure light Duncan seem to see it change...shift and contort into a smaller, older-looking man's...then he was hit, and all he could do was yell with all his might.
The quickening was breathtaking! It was more powerful than any before...yet felt completely different in sensation from the others. He felt knowledge flow into his mind, threatening to split it asunder...his inner self cringed in denial as he learned news of a war between humankind and AI...of his defeat and the creation of an abomination of a system named the Matrix. Control...as the quickening reached its height he was suddenly struck with a far more chilling sensation...he felt Smith! Tangible, undeniable...suddenly he could feel his consciousness taken over by the entity that was Smith...his own body refusing to heed his commands! He fought, and he fought hard, but his opponent was on a battlefield he had never fought on! He seemed to hold back the onslaught for a while, then...

...Smith snapped back to "consciousness" in his new body. He surveyed his surroundings and grimaced. Then he strode over to the waiting police car. His two colleagues were sitting inside and waited till he had seated himself before speaking.
"Where did you go?"
Smith merely gave a dismissive glance.
"I had to handle a disruption in the system. An Immortal."
"-How did it go?"
He merely grimaced tightly.

Miles away, Duncan MacLeod gasped for breath, his ordeal over and body fully his. He realised he was in a fetal position and uncurled himself, standing and surveying his surroundings...the destruction caused by the typical Quickening. His eyes stopped cold on the headless body of an old man, lying where Smith fell. He blinked disbelievingly, then remembered the knowledge he had gained. His mind almost exploding, he stumbled away. All he knew right now was that he had to get away, now. And that somebody, Dawson, Richie, anybody...somebody had to know the Truth.
The next day when the agents got there there was no possible hope they could find their quarry. He had, like they all do, disappeared into the masses. His being of such...unique makeup meant they could never just trace him through the system, take over his body...just like another group of renegades they dealt with...with that a new order came for all three of them. Their quarry, Morpheus, had been suspected to be arriving at Heathrow airport soon. Dismissing their current target as one of ignorable priority, they left to hunt their new prey...
...Always a new prey.


...Hope u liked that!! Phew that was the longest I made of the three parter...took alot outta me. Gimme feedback if u'd like more...but I'll have to wait for my braincells to recharge before I can think up another. It's not so hard really folks...u can try! "Free your mind" hee hee...C'ya all then folks! :D

um.... -scratching head- how did duncan get back to the park after smith walked away in his body?

Ha ha...look closely. I wanted to give a false impression he took over his body but it's revealed he failed and took over one nearer his old one instead...that's why he met his colleagues again. Sorry for the misconception :p

Wow, Macleod. That was great. For a minute you really got me- that Smith would win no matter what happened. But I'm glad that Duncan wasn't eliminated. What will he do now he knows the truth?

Well thanks for the praise...frankly I dunno what Duncan'd do...I ended the story at that point to create speculation. Dun think I'd continue with that anytime soon...but since its based on events that happen even later than Highlander:Endgame I shouldn't have broken any rules or such. What happens next is free for anyone else wif an interest to continue...I enjoyed it though! Hope to do more soon!...

More please. I am in withrawal mode yet again!!! You totally rock my friend. That is one of the best pieces of short story I have read. Luc, please come and read this and reply. He's an asset to this forum I feel.

love UT

...Very high praise indeed!! <blushes> :D
...Now if I can get over this current bout o' writer's block...

Me thinks Duncan needs to run into some zion rebles next. And perhaps some red pill action in the future???