Disclaimer: I don't own The Matrix, their characters, and any of the other sequels that sucked. They all belong to the Wachowski Brothers.

RUMBLINGS AND KILLINGS

I waited under the bridge. Somehow I felt this was familiar… like I'd done this before. It was a nice night. A bit cold, but what did it matter? Besides, when I really focused, it seemed like the cold wasn't really there. When I pictured this scene in my mind, the weather had been terrible. It was wet. Pouring outside, actually. I don't know why I thought that, maybe I dreamed it all. Is it possible to live in dreams?

A sleek black car pulled up. I tried to look at the front seat, but the windows were tinted. A door opened. I looked around… like it did any good. Warily, I got into the car.

Inside, I sat next to a man. Asian, I think. I'm almost positive. In the front seat was a bald man. It was the man I had encountered in the subway station. The man I had run from, although why I didn't know. Maybe it wasn't him I was running from. There were all these things I couldn't explain. Things that happen to me everyday. And it's not like I don't know how to pull it together. Inside, I knew I had everything figured out. But as soon as I'm ready to grasp whatever the hell it is that I'm supposed to be remembering, it's like my mind is wiped clean. I wake up later in my bed, wondering what was happening to me. Nevermind. I am completely insane.

The man in the front. His name was Morpheus. The living legend himself. The man that hackers around the world debate about on whether or not he exists. This man was a fairy tale. Or maybe a Greek legend. His name was brought up in chat rooms worldwide daily. And yet here he was, dressed in black with sunglasses with round rims.

A dark woman drove the car. She seemed dangerous somehow. Like she was keeping an eye on me. I wasn't afraid, but I was… okay, maybe a little afraid. Here I am, in a car with Morpheus and two other strangers. All of them are in black except the driver, who's in the color of crimson. Or blood.

The man beside me and Morpheus cocked their guns.

Alright… with guns. Don't pee yourself. I wouldn't want to embarrass myself in front of Morpheus.

The man beside me aimed at my temple.

Fuck.

Morpheus touched the man's arm. "Easy, Ghost."

The driver spoke up. "It's procedure, Morpheus. I know how much Neo means to you, but don't forget that he's been plugged back in. He's as much a threat to us as any other person."

"He's less dangerous than you think." Morpheus answered. "He turned into an Agent once before. I was at his mercy."

The driver didn't look away from the road. She frowned, almost like a mother would to a stubborn child.

"Despite that, Morpheus. Despite of who this man is, and who he is to you and how much you trust him," the man beside me spoke again. His eyes did not move to Morpheus but remained on my temple, "I would feel a lot safer if we did it the usual way."

Morpheus sighed heavily and nodded reluctantly. He turned to me. "Don't be afraid, Neo."

"How do you…" I started shakily. I took a second to regain my composure. "How do you know that name?"

"You will know in time." Morpheus answered. "Let's just say that I'm not the only one who knows the legend of Neo, and that Morpheus… well, I'm not the biggest legend either."

"Who… who are you?" I asked.

"You already know the answer to that, Neo." Morpheus continued.

I nodded. "What do you want with me?"

"Nothing." Morpheus said. After a moment, he continued, "We're here to take you home."

-

It had been some time before my battle. My glorious battle with The One. It had also been some time before my downfall. But it felt like an instant to me from then to now because to be honest, time doesn't affect us programs. We could last eternity and outlive it. It's not time we worry about for the most part. Well, not it exactly. We actually worry about how much time until a better program comes along. That's how these things work.

Me, I had been lucky. No one rivaled me as far as fighting goes. I was the best program. Perfect, they told me. No one could've matched me. But if a program was not going to beat me, someone had to. And that someone was a human. A man named Thomas Anderson.

I didn't understand it. In fact, I didn't want to. I had killed Mr. Anderson, or Neo as he likes to call himself. I had shot him repeatedly and I watched him die by my gun. And as I prepared to walk away, knowing that I had again come out superior, Neo got up. Impossible, I know. Nonetheless, he did. He got up and he killed me.

Now I had already been killed twice. The first time, I had ended up in this place. This place was bleak. It was dark, and it was nothing. I was no longer an Agent. This time, I'm still not an Agent, but I think my ability to copy myself had been stripped. I was weaker than what I was. But could I blame them? I had almost beat the system. If there was no Mr. Anderson to foil me once again, I would've done it. I had already taken the Oracle. In fact, I defeated Mr. Anderson. I killed him again. But that man refuses to stay dead. He rose up once more and killed me.

And here I was. Back in the dungeon that I will never call home. But something was different. I snapped away from the train of thought. There, hovering in front of me, was a green door. It was familiar, yet, it couldn't be. I clutched the knob and twisted. I walked through the door.

As I closed it behind me, I felt the familiarity overwhelm me. The screens that ran against the walls. The white desk with a white chair and a white man on it. He was the Architect. My father actually. He helped make me what I am. He had also given me that second chance after my first death. He gave me the ability to copy myself. Maybe he would give them back to me.