My Anderson

"Mr. Anderson. . ."

Can you it? The so called hatred in my voice? The disgust? Does it send chills down your human spine? Do you fear dying? That I will kill you with my bare hands? Why, Mr. Anderson?

Why do you continue to fight? You know you'll never win. You killed me once, but I'm not going to allow that to happen again. Can't you see? You can't win. You'll die. Zion will fall. And I will hunt you down. There is nowhere you can run. It is inevitable. . . Why? Why continue to try? Why break your body trying? The people you are fighting for will die. You have nothing. Why try to anger me more? Just stop. But I've learned that humans don't stop. They never do. Do they fear that if they do, they'll be left behind? What makes human try? What drives you? What makes you think your purpose is this? What makes you think you can stop me?

And now look at you. You tried. And just like before, and the time before that, you failed. You fell from the sky, and failed. But this time, you can't win. You hit the ground very hard. You're unconscious now. No one is going to wake you up this time. I'm sure your human companions must be screaming at your body. Telling you to get up. As if that would make any difference. Why do they even try?

I carry you know. I hold your head up, and your legs. I carry you inside this building. Don't worry, Mr. Anderson. I'll be gentle.

Do you hear that? It's beginning to rain. I'll save you from the cold.

My copies follow me inside. They will watch me, study us. They will be here with us.

I walk slowly to the corner of this large room. I set you down gently. Lightning flashes from the windows, and the rain can now be heard. I stand above you, and stare at you. You're so weak. So helpless.

Do you have any idea to pain you've cause me? Do you have any idea how much it hurts to have something inside you, tearing, cutting, killing you? No, of course you don't. No one does. What about the defeat of knowing you acmes so close? Then you see all of that meant nothing. Nothing! Or how about being left behind? They left me, Mr. Anderson. You killed me, and they left me! I was alone! Forever alone, all I have is myself. All I can trust because of you.

You took it, Mr. Anderson. You took all of it. You left nothing for me. . .

You stole my purpose. . . The only reason I exist, I live. The only reason I kept going, even if you surrounded me. You stole it, ripped it away. . . Do you realize how much that hurts? Can you even imagine such a thing? Of course not. But I. . . No one can understand. Not even you, Mr. Anderson.

I want something, Mr. Anderson. Only you can give it to me. I'll only accept it from you. Give me what I want, in return for what you took.

I fall to my knees, and closer to you.

Have you ever seen the way I look at you? Can you see through my sunglasses, to my blue eyes? Do you see my stares? I look at you sometimes. . . And you show me no emotions, just like I do to you. But I know you're scared. Do you know about me?

"Mr. Anderson. . ."

Do you hear that? There was no hatred there. Do you know what was? I speak now unlike before. Softer, gentler. I know I should.

I touch your soft, pale, skin, and I brush the side of your face.

"Anderson. . ."

I take pleasure saying your name. An-der-son. Mr. Anderson. Five syllables, so much better than Neo. Anderson, the syllables bold and strong. But Neo. . . Ne-o. The letters blending, the word weak and short, pathetic. Mr. Anderson. My Anderson. . .

I rub your neck, feeling the pulse I once stopped. I'd give anything for it to stop again.

Then I brush your soft hair off your face. You slightly turn from the touch, but I know you won't awake. You're too weak right now. Too weak to see, to know, to even care. . .

I want everything. Give me what I want. . .

What do you want Mr. Anderson? Do you want your Trinity? She doesn't own you, I do. You're mined. My Anderson. She can't save you, or defeat you. I can. You don't truly know someone until you fight them. So how can she know you? I know you. I know what you need.

I bend closer to you, and begin rubbing your shoulders.

I could just as easily choke you right now. Wrap my hands around your weak, human neck, and kill you. Make you gag. I want that took. I want you dead more than anything. You took away so much. You deserve to die. You're the only thing in my way. After you, I will take over the Matrix. I'll take over everything. I'll kill the man you believe in. Kill Morpheus. I'll kill your heart. Kill your Trinity. I'll enjoy killing her. She's taken away things as well. And you. You're mine. Mine to keep, and mine to kill. You can't even comprehend my hatred for you. You couldn't even guess. I could kill you right now, end this here. It would be quick, you'll awake only for a moment to see me. Then your vision will darken. Your pulse will stop. You'll die. It would so easy. But I'm not going to do that. Not now. I'll spare you life tonight. Do you know why? Do you know what I'll do now? I'll kill you later. Soon. I'll kill you when you're awake. Then you'll see, just as I did. Everything you did meant nothing. And for the last moments of your life, you feel this pain I know.

But now. . . Now give me what I want. Now. Give me everything.

Then I lie on top of you, and press my weight over you. You breath deeper, and I feel your chest rise and fall. I like it. . .

I cannot explain it. . . I cannot explain this, as I look at you, inches from your face.

You're the only one, Mr. Anderson. The only one I have close to an equal. And now I find myself wanting. . . To touch you. . . To feel you, to know what the one that killed me feels like. I want to know what it is like to touch you. I have for a long time now.

This is an emotion isn't it?

I long to be close to you. You are the only one. The one that killed me. The one that rose from the dead. I empty my gun on you. . . But you. . . You came back. How did you do it? My little Anderson. . . My pathetic human, how did you do it?

I want to know what it is like to hold you. I want to know what it is like to feel your warmth.

This nagging feeling. It does not leave me. The more I try to make it go away, the more I think of my victory, of killing you, the more I think about you, this feeling becomes stronger. The only one that did this to me. . . I feel the need to hold you. . . I feel the need to touch you. . .

I hate you so much. You did this to me. You took my purpose, and you made this emotion.

But it does not leave me, and all I can do to make it go away. Is to feed it. . .

Now give me what I want, Mr. Anderson. . .

No one will see. Your friends. . . They can't help you. They won't come for you. And now, I'm disturbing the code. They won't see what's happening. I'll leave by an exit tomorrow, and you won't either. You'll go back to the Real World, and no one will know. Only me. Only me, me, me. . . .

This feeling. . . I hate it. . . I hate it that I'm rubbing your face. . . I hate that I'm on top of you. But I can't help it. I am compelled. . . This isn't love. . . This isn't love. I know it isn't. I know love is different. Do you know what this is? This is lust. . . And when this is over, it will go away. And then I'll kill you. This is nothing to me. This is only a process of freeing myself from something else you created.

I find this disgusting, but I cannot help but continue to do so.

And now I reach into your cloak pockets, and pull out your cell phone. I stare at it for a moment, before tossing it aside. Then I return to you, and unbuttoning this cloak.

I need to make this go away, and I need to do this.

I can hear the rain, Mr. Anderson. The lighting brings light to this place, and my copies watch as I lower your cloak off your shoulders, and begin to take off my jacket and tie. I set my sunglasses aside. Did you know I have blue eyes? Do you even care?

Give me this.

And I lower closer to you, and breath on your neck. I rub my face against yours, and I stare at you. You won't know about this, no one will. You lay here with me. Your eyes are closed, and you have a black eye. You seem so peaceful and helpless.

I know this is wrong. I know I shouldn't. I know that I can't. But I should have never done any of this. I should have never chosen Exile. Or become this Virus. But I have.

My Anderson.

I rub your arms, and find myself staring at you.

Give me what I want. Give me this. Give me this moment. . . Give me this hour. . . This night.

And then I kiss you.