If nobody reads this, I don't care. Just writing for fun anyway.
** The Cast (So Far) **
* From Part I *
SkyCaptain: Freemind Pilot/Gunner/Operative/Operator.
Patriot: Freemind Hacker/Operative/Operator. *MAIN CHARACTER* Spends all his time jacked into his own little fantasy world he created in the construct programs.
Mixer: Freemind Super-Reflexes/Bending Operative.
* From Part II *
Clash: Freemind Weapons/Demolition Expert/Operative.
* From Part IV *
Rocket: Freeborn Mechanic/Pilot/Operator.
* From Part VI *
SkiFree: Freemind Gunner/Operative/Operator.
Violet: Freeborn Nurse/Pilot/Operator.
* From Part X *
Agent Walker: An Agent of the System. Patriot's arch-nemesis.
** THE MATRIX; PATRIOT'S DREAM **
* Part I *
"Operator."
"We need an exit."
"Can you make it back to the jack-in point?" said the small black cell phone in SkyCaptain's hand. They'd jacked into the Matrix through a public telephone booth across the street a block away.
"Not without detection." said SkyCaptain. The office building they'd broken into already had employees checking in and getting their morning coffee.
"Gimme that!" said Patriot, grabbing the phone away from SkyCaptain his superior. "One of the files here contained a list of all the company's phone numbers. This line might be tapped but I can point the most convenient one out to you so that you can see it and maybe They can't."
As he said this he typed in the poor IT guy's admin password again and logged onto the company's network. 12 seconds later he was scrolling thru a list of phone numbers.
"What's the sign on the door say?" asked Patriot who couldn't be bothered to look away from the screen.
"Frank Adams!" said Mixer. Her area of expertise was simply being really really fast.
Patriot looked at the phone on the desk and pointed to a number on the list. "Here it is," he said quietly.
SkyCaptain had the cell back by now. "Operator's got it."
The whole team stared at the phone on the desk desperately hoping for a ring.
Someone was coming down the hall. Was it Frank Adams?
* Part II *
The footsteps continued to come closer and the phone continued to not ring.
Patriot said, "OK maybe that was his home number..."
"We're all gonna die." said Clash.
The doorknob started to turn and a phone finally started ringing.
The phone down the hall.
Mixer knocked out the man entering the office. But he had seen enough of them that in a few minutes the place would swarming with agents.
Clash said, "Let's go."
They slammed open the door and started dashing toward the office at the end of the hall, running towards the ringing phone - but was it really the sound of safety, a trap or just some idiot dialing the wrong number?
Mixer looked back and saw that one of the men in business suits was now wearing sunglasses. "We've got company!" she shouted.
Clash burst into the empty office, grabbed the phone and disappeared. SkyCaptain followed. During the few seconds she was waiting for her turn, Mixer noticed that the windows of the office would be excellent for sniping someone in the street or in another building.
Patriot only noticed the small sign on the desk.
It said, "FRANK ADAMS JR."
Mixer gave him a look.
"Well how was I to know he had a son in the business?"
Mixer jacked out, accidentally dropping the phone on the floor behind her. Patriot dove for it...
An agent that had jumped off the roof of a nearby building shattered thru the windows of the office...
The agent found that except for him it was empty. The targets had successfully jacked out without a positive trace. He reflected that, from their vantage point, the office had always been empty.
After all, it didn't exist.
* Part III *
A hovercraft shifted positions stealthily. It was it's standard procedure to never do two Matrix jack-ins from the same physical location in a row even if they weren't traced as they were fairly sure they weren't. As it's crew sat consuming their wretched "chicken-flavored" mush and excitedly discussing their next moves, Patriot slipped away by himself.
Mixer followed, surprised at herself for doing so. "You going off into la-la land again, Patriot?" she asked.
"Hey, this is art I'm doing here," protested Patriot, "I'm an artist."
"Right. And I'm the One." mocked Mixer.
"No really - this stuff I'm doing is really cool. You should see it!"
"Well I guess it can't be much stranger than the truth or even what's 'normal' to the Matrix.."
"You can come too! I've always wanted to try this out multiplayer!" suggested Patriot excitedly.
"No - I think I've had enough virtual deception for one day. Bon voyage, brainless!"
She said it in just such a way to show she wasn't serious, and wanted him to know that.
Patriot jacked in.
Mixer just stared thoughtfully at the falling code on the screens.
/I can only show you the door. I can't make you walk thru./ /Take the red pill and you'll stay in wonderland, and I'll show you how deep the rabbit-hole really goes.... /
* Part IV *
Before the Machines created the Matrix and thus designed the method of their own destruction, when man was feeling thoughtful he stared into the dancing flames of a warm campfire.
The light patterns of fires follow a complex mathematical topography dependant on many outside factors, such as wind, in the surrounding environment. They soothe a part of the human brain akin to that part which appreciated music.
And art.
When the Machines designed the Matrix, they kept this fact in mind. Such patterns run through the very fabric of Matrix virtual reality in the form of falling green code.
As it has been extremely difficult to build a campfire ever since the sky was destroyed, there being no forests, modern Freeminds have a natural tendency to stare into the seemingly random patterns which made up the very walls of their former prisons.
So it was with Mixer for a few moments after Patriot had so abruptly jacked in.
"Typical male," she concluded and returned to the table just as Rocket, their freeborn pilot, mechanic and operator was also entering the room.
"Found us a nice quiet and hopefully safe spot." said Rocket.
"Good work. Thanks" said SkyCaptain, " - especially for patching Patriot's exit so quick."
"Now we got the phone number for every secretary chick in town, baby!" exclaimed Clash who exchanged a high-five with Rocket.
"Um... great." Mixer said unenthusiastically. "So what do we do now?"
"Well, the information we obtained on this op includes the dirt on this corporation's contracts with the... government. Particularly departments that we know to be particularly agent-infested." SkyCaptain explained.
"Departments like NASA. Some fool program is experimenting with the possible consequences of increasing the technological level of the Matrix culture. Bluepills are doing Research and Development for the Machines."
"But why? Everyone knows that computers are much better than humans at math and science," argued Mixer.
"Do not attempt to understand the machine mind. No human can ever do that - probably not even the One. We only know that the AI finds this to be the most efficient method of accomplishing it's goals. Finding out what it's goals are is our problem." answered SkyCaptain.
"Yeah, that's what I said." Mixer rolled her eyes.
"So what are you gonna do now, Boss?" asked Rocket, "What's your next move?"
"Well, we don't know what's really going on here, and..."
"The Matrix Has Us." interrupted Clash, once again displaying his special unique talent for interrupting important moments with stupid unamusing bad jokes.
"That was SO not funny." said Mixer.
"Anyways, if this change puts us at a disadvantage in the War, we need to try to stop it somehow. If it helps us we leave it alone - but that's not going to happen. I'm pretty sure it's either nothing or serious bad news. It can't be good." reflected SkyCaptain.
"No news is good news." remarked Clash.
"Clash!" Mixer groaned.
"No really," said Clash, "if people's minds are more used to higher tech, wouldn't that make them better able to understand, accept and live with the Red Pill?"
"Whoa," said Rocket.
"Hadn't crossed my mind." said SkyCaptain. "In any case, we need to spread the word about this. Make sure Zion knows if we ever get the chance."
"But that still doesn't answer our question!" exclaimed Mixer. "What are we going to DO about it? Tomorrow!?"
"Well, we already know about the accounting from the company, so we need to find out what the project actually is from the inside - the government side."
"Are you CRAZY!? Oh, Hello, Mr. Government Bureaucrat! Nice shades! KA-BAM! DEAD!" Clash fell on the floor.
"Get up!" yelled an annoyed Mixer at Clash. "But he's right you know," she said to SkyCaptain, "That would be one dangerous op!"
"Well, I'm open to suggestions," said SkyCaptain.
"Hey, I know! Try jacking out without a hard line!" suggested Clash.
His face suddenly collided with several airborne containers of "Chicken."
* Part V *
The same agent that had so nearly apprehended the targets in the office building had himself, or itself, assigned to the Dodgecorp case. He would have preferred to do more probing of the human beings and their computer systems, but by now neither would remember a thing.
Except perhaps for his warning to the building's security guard.
"This never happened. This must never happen again."
One question was answered rather quickly in fact. "How much did they get access to?"
Everything.
This little event had no doubt provided Zion with dozens of leads on how to find out whatever they wanted to know and had provided the agent with nothing. Not a clue, not a fingerprint, not a trace. Not even a positive voice identification, because the security cameras didn't have microphones and there wasn't one in the office anyway.
Sunglasses and virtual reality are such pains in the computer-generated neck.
He checked his objectives again.
Pursuit and defense of the Dodgecorp objectives were about equal in the goal hierarchy.
Since he had nothing to go on he was waiting for more data and defending in the same action of standby.
Having gotten a nibble at the bait, Zion was sure to be back for more. Only this time he'd be ready as soon as they jacked in.
He made a mental note to make sure the company switched phone services.
* Part VI *
SkyCaptain, Rocket, Mixer, Patriot and Clash were not the only crewmembers of the hovercraft "Abraham Lincoln." There was also the night shift, which included SkiFree and Violet.
Violet was a female freeborn nurse and helped keep the place clean. She was learning to be an operator from SkiFree and to fly the hovercraft from SkyCaptain and Rocket. She was a decent real world gunner but one would never guess from looking at her. She was very shy and gave an impression of feminine vulnerability that was foreign to this age of female soldiers.
Strangely, Clash left her alone with his jokes and stuck up for her.
SkiFree, on the other hand, thought she needed to toughen up her attitude and was constantly on her case.
As the night shift took over, they weren't surprised to see that Patriot was still acting as his own operator in the construct programs because he often did this.
"Nerd," said SkiFree.
"Him or me?" asked Violet.
"Never mind. Now remember what I said about patching exits..."
Patriot said, "Save Game. All."
"Game saved," responded the computer's voice. It was patterned after the WOPR (War Operation Plan Response) computer "Joshua" from the movie "War Games."
"Close Game. No," said Patriot impatiently. This time it shed him of his game persona and dumped him back to his specially modified loading program without comment.
In the midst of the infinite white space of the loading program, Patriot now took on an image of himself, wearing a black trench coat with black sunglasses and black cowboy boots.
He snapped his fingers. A replica of the real-world computer console for his station appeared. He yawned as the computer said, "Good evening, Patriot," and typed in the jack-out command.
His eyes opened.
"Hi," he said.
"Oh, 'sup Patriot!" said SkiFree, "I'm trying to show Violet here that new trick for not getting your exits traced."
Patriot's hand was still clutching the remote control his finger had pressed to jack him in four hours ago.
He pulled out his wire and said, "I'd help but I'm dead tired. Has SkyCaptain got plans for tomorrow?"
"Bright and early," said SkiFree and he smirked at having used the expression in a sunless world.
"Oh no," groaned Patriot, "Look, I really gotta crash. I'll help you guys out tomorrow night. Goodnight!"
"Yeah, and watch out for those bed bugs, or whatever it was Clash was sayin'" mumbled SkiFree.
"Hey, like I said, what a nerd." he said turning to Violet. "I was looking for this," he continued, picking up the remote.
Violet said nothing.
Patriot slept, and dreamed.
* Part VII *
Patriot dreamed that he was talking to the Oracle. This was strange because he had always refused to believe anything she said, despite obvious evidence that she could in fact see the future.
He dreamed that he was talking to her in the Loading Program, which was even more impossible. But this was a dream, and in dreams strange things happen.
She said, "I need cookies. Lots of cookies."
And the cookies came from all sides, all kinds of cookies, fortune cookies, macadamia nut cookies, chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal cookies, gingerbread men cookies, all kinds everywhere as far as the eye could see.
And the Oracle picked up a chocolate chip cookie and said, "Here. Eat a cookie!"
And she started throwing chocolate chip cookies at him. Even though he tried to use his Matrix powers to dodge them, she knew whatever move he made before he made it and he got pummeled with cookies. His hair filled with crumbs, and suddenly...
A phone rang beside him. He jacked out.
In the "waking" moment between the Matrix, or the construct or whatever this mess was and the real world, he saw a brief vision.
He saw himself in the power plant. In his pod.
Through the red membrane he could see that his wraithlike hands were clutching something...
A chocolate chip cookie.
He was in the Abraham Lincoln again, but it was under attack!
SkyCaptain was at the controls, throwing the Lincoln back and forth across the sky. Patriot looked out the window and saw...
The sky was raining giant cookies! Each one crashed to the ground with the force of an earthquake. The sentient octopus robots were getting smashed, but would the armies of Zion be crushed with them?
Was the War over?
SkiFree ordered him to jack in and find out what was happening in the Matrix, which was odd because SkiFree wasn't exactly his superior...
He didn't want to go, but SkyCaptain said, "Go."
He jacked in and was back in the Loading Program still holding the phone.
It was ringing even though it was off the hook in his hands.
The Oracle had turned into something. It was...
An agent.
The dream suddenly became serious as the phone seemed to melt into irrelevance. All that Patriot could see was the agent's face.
The agent of the system said as only agents can, "Hello, Mr. Randall Stevens aka Patriot," saying the last word with that particular expression of distain that agents express themselves with as surely as with words, "or should I say Traitor. I'm waiting for you. You have betrayed your country. I will get you, Traitor."
The phone rang.
Patriot awoke.
He screamed like he never had since the day he took the Red Pill.
* Part VIII *
He realized it was morning. It was time for SkyCaptain's briefing in the main room. He dressed hurriedly and entered.
The whole crew just stared at him. Apparently they heard...
"Uh, sorry guys," apologized Patriot, "nightmare..."
"O...K...." said SkyCaptain, saying "Good morning, Everybody! That was really weird wasn't it!? Maybe if we just get on with our lives it will go away and not happen again," in one drawn out word.
"We have a war to win people." said SkyCaptain aloud, "and wars, especially in our time, are won with information. Sun Tzu said you must first know yourself and then know your enemy. In any fair fight, intelligence determines success. It's our job not only to provide that intelligence, but to make sure the fight isn't fair. We need to keep ahead. We're more than just soldiers, we're spies."
"Just call me Double Oh Nine and a half." said Clash.
"Is it just me, or do Clash's jokes get more corny over time?" asked Mixer.
"No the corniness multiplies exponentially." said Patriot.
"Just wondered." said Mixer.
"This is serious! We have an address here where machinery is being shipped. It's a heavily guarded military research facility. Whatever they're cooking up there is for us and I don't think it's a surprise birthday party."
"Hey, that's my line!" said Clash.
"Have we got the passwords? What's our backup plan?" the group asked SkyCaptain.
"The doors are weird. They require a keycard that only the guards have and they aren't tied in to any kind of central system. Other than that it's all fingerprint-locked. No passwords, no back doors. Looks like this might be one for Clash's bombs."
"Can't we just jack in through a phone inside the complex?" asked Patriot.
"They're all cell phones - which is what made me certain something fishy was going on." answered SkyCaptain.
"What's our main objective? I mean, besides survival?" asked SkiFree.
"Steal the plans to whatever they're building. Sabotage the project. Make sure we know more than the enemy does." said SkyCaptain.
"And live to tell the tale." said Patriot in a low voice.
"Sounds like a good time," said Clash.
"Who's going?" asked Mixer.
"Me, Clash, Patriot and you again. SkiFree's been up all night. Oh, and Mixer, you've got the night shift next - after tonight." said SkyCaptain.
"Is it really day and night, or did the Matrix get it backwards?" wondered Patriot aloud.
"Let's not get off on a tangent here, but yeah, time is just another thing the Machines robbed from us." said SkyCaptain.
"Wouldn't our chances be better at night? This is about the same time we jacked in yesterday." commented Patriot.
"The fact that you just said that demonstrates that it worked." said SkyCaptain.
"Doesn't mean it will keep working. I have a bad feeling about jacking in at the same time as yesterday." said Patriot.
"Don't worry," Rocket reassured him, "we're already a couple minutes off. Now we're burnin' daylight, people! Let's go!"
* Part IX *
Four figures in black appeared in stark contrast to the absolute white of the loading program. They all wore identical black sunglasses, one of the functions of which was to protect the eyes from the absolute white of this place.
"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" quoted Patriot.
"Man, you really took that whole 'Alice in Wonderland' thing to your head." said SkyCaptain.
"OK, Rocket," Clash said into his cell phone, "Get me demolition pack three in addition to my standard equipment and, uh, throw in an extra hand grenade, will ya?"
"Standard plus sniper rifle," said SkyCaptain.
"I might have to shop a little," said Mixer.
"Hey, I got the wrong clothes!" said Patriot, looking down. He was wearing a suit and tie that just said, "Funeral."
His clothes changed to his black trench coat with several hand guns. "Oh, can I have my scope / machine gun too?"
Things whooshed around for about a minute, but then they finished.
"You guys ready?" asked SkyCaptain.
"Yeah, but I could sure use a bulldozer," said Clash.
"I'm just going to ignore that and assume a yes." said SkyCaptain.
"Everything but the kitchen sink," said Clash.
"There is no sink," said Mixer.
"Yeah, OK, let's go." said SkyCaptain.
A phone rang.
SkyCaptain answered it.
"We're in," he said.
Mega City was big. Bigger even than New York had ever been.
It was home to millions of people who were completely unaware that it didn't exist. In a city that size there had to be billions of telephone lines. Each simulated telephone line was also a teleporter. A gateway between the real and the virtual, without which operatives could not jack out without having their minds permanently torn apart from their bodies causing instant death.
The agent knew this and did something his kind rarely did.
He smirked.
He pulled down his hands-free communication device to speak into it before putting it in his pocket for the first time in his life. The others shouldn't have to hear this - he would be getting his hands dirty.
'Oh, the things we will do for our country,' he thought as he started to speak.
"They're in," he said.
* Part X *
The four approached the target building on foot. Thankfully, the only street they had to cross was deserted. SkyCaptain aimed his rifle and quickly sniped both guards.
"OK, Clash, do your stuff!" he said.
Clash crept across the street, put something in front of the huge metal door and snuck back.
"Happy Birthday!" he said, and pushed a button.
Half the building blew up.
"Oh, oops," said Clash, "uh, sorry SkyCaptain - um. Big boom."
A siren sounded.
"Oh, great. Let's get out of here!" SkyCaptain flipped open his cell phone as they ran.
"Operator," said Rocket.
"We need an exit!" said SkyCaptain.
"Uh, sorry guys, you blew out an underground phone wire or something. That last line's toast!"
Police and firemen flooded the blast zone.
"We need an exit!" SkyCaptain repeated needlessly.
"OK, there's a public telephone booth at the intersection of 51st and Comrade," said Rocket, "You can make it!"
He never finished the last word because SkyCaptain had shut the phone too quickly.
"Come on! Let's go! go! go!" he yelled as they simply ran for their lives.
Suddenly, SkyCaptain said, "Stop."
The phone was surrounded by three parked cop cars.
"Uh-oh." said Patriot, "That could be bad."
"Yeah, now if only we had some donuts..." said Clash.
"I don't think they know that they're after us, and even if they do I don't think they'll be able to stop us from getting to that phone. It'll take a couple seconds for an agent to materialize." said SkyCaptain, "Mixer, you go first."
"Yeah, ladies first." said Clash.
"Can't we just get another exit?" asked Patriot.
"With the fried telephone wires? I doubt it," said SkyCaptain, who checked with Rocket just in case, "They'll be combing the city for us, but you know the best place to hide ..."
"... is in plain sight." they all responded in unison. It was SkyCaptain's motto. The oft-repeated reason why the team did so many daytime ops.
It brought back memories ...
"OK, go Mixer! You can do it!"
Mixer ran for the ringing phone ...
Time seemed to slow as a cop turned his head ...
The other three charged ...
Car doors started opening ...
Mixer jacked out.
The first cop yelled in astonishment as she disappeared into the phone ...
SkyCaptain reached the phone next and jacked out.
The cops were getting ready psychologically to shoot somebody - like these heavily-armed individuals who seemed to disappear into a telephone booth for example ...
Clash gave a rebel yell, threw his hand grenade in the air, and jacked out.
A cable truck pulled up ...
Patriot just like yesterday, tried to bend the rules to make himself go just a little faster as he once again dove for the phone ...
It gave him an intense feeling of deja vu.
The grenade exploded in the air like one of those noises that they tell you to cover your ears during except that this one could actually hurt them ...
Patriot stood up and raised the phone to his ear ...
It was neatly shot to pieces in his hand.
Time seemed to resume it's normal pace as Patriot simply gaped in utter disbelief.
So this was it.
He was going to die.
"NSA. I'll handle this," said the black suit and tie that emerged from the cable truck.
Many of the cops morphed into agents, got into their cars and sped away, messing with mind and memory.
A piece of plastic that was once part of a public telephone dropped from Patriot's grasp.
He put down his now-empty hand and stared into the face of the agent from his dream.
"Mr. Stevens," said the agent with quiet deadly authority, "what a pity we were never able to speak in person during your former life. My name is Walker. Agent Walker."
Patriot knew his time had to be short, but this time he was at least not going to be out-cooled.
"I'm Bond. James Bond."
"Is that really how you want to be remembered?"
'Wouldn't hurt anything," he decided.
"Patriot," he said.
"That was not funny, Mr. Stevens."
What could a machine know of humor?
Patriot decided to get it over with before this thing could make it's offer if it had one.
What would Clash say?
"Not as funny as your face!"
He shot at the agent with his machine gun, but only managed to fire two bullets before the trigger was no longer attached to a gun. It had also been shot into pieces in his hands.
Patriot fell backwards, hit his head on the concrete sidewalk and remembered no more.
[to be continued ... ]
Spelling corrections, suggestions, questions and comments welcome. Thanks for reading!
Also read my other Matrix story/spoof:
The Matrix; Path of the Two.
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The Matrix; Patriot's Dream
Name: Randall Stevens
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