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Chapter 10: Queen’s Pawn Promoted
The bullet arrived.
It arrived, but I was not there to stop it. Although I didn’t will my body’s motion, I couldn’t prevent it. Not when I was rammed by a compact form arriving at full tilt, propelled by desperation and love.
Zephyr.
I flew sideways, instinctively rolling as my shoulders neared the ground. Zephyr landed more awkwardly, having hit me hard around my left hip as I stood in front of the bar.
I wanted to scream. To cry. I didn’t need to look to know what had happened, when I was no longer there to protect the man behind the bar. Protect him with my body, with my life.
Davydd! I failed you!!!
But the Agent wasn’t finished. His hand was already in motion, tracking Zephyr as he spun towards the ground. I would not fail again!
I completed my roll, using the horizontal force Zephyr had imparted to come back to a crouched position. Without a moment to pause, I charged at the Agent, abandoning my useless handguns with their easy-to-evade ballistic projectiles.
The maneuver worked, as the Agent spun his weapon away from Zephyr to point right at my center mass. He fired, once . . . twice . . . three times.
But I used his damned trick against him, twisting and twitching in such a way that I not only evaded the ballistic paths of his bullets, but I also continued my forward charge.
And when I reached him, I had a different weapon in my hand.
The Paranza Corta stiletto is no slashing weapon. In an attempt to ruin the arm holding the weapon, I aimed straight at the Agent’s right shoulder blade. As before, it writhed and bent, its reflexes inhumanly fast. But unlike a bullet, my hand wasn’t confined to a straight and predictable path. I followed his body’s motion like we were performing a tightly synchronized dance.
The blade rammed into the Agent’s shoulder, severing muscle and tendon both. But I was barely able to keep hold of it as my black-suited adversary spun around, in the process shifting the gun to his left hand.
I tried again. He was bringing the gun to bear, and I whipped the blade towards his left wrist in a lightning quick feint. He spun away, but before I could capitalize on the moment he used the momentum from his spin to aim a round kick at my head.
I ducked just in time then launched myself forward to take advantage of his momentary imbalance. He clutched at me as I hit him, and we both crashed to the floor. The knife was wrenched from my hand, but I managed to extract myself and leap backward, once again landing on my feet.
I became aware again – I don’t know how I had lost that awareness – that the Agent and I weren’t alone in the pub. There were police officers all over; it appeared that several of them were pinning Zephyr to the ground where he had landed heavily. Arms were reaching to grab me, even as the Agent’s face melted, becoming Cleo once more.
But Cleo would never lead an attack against the machines, nor would Sir Anthony St. Claire fulfill his mother’s dynastic ambitions. Her face was still, frozen, and her eyes were open and unseeing. I didn’t need medical training to know that she was dead; whether by chance or by instinct, my knife was buried to the hilt in her throat.
In the odd, code-like world I could now sense beyond my vision, I saw the power line leaving Cleo’s body and going toward one of the officers who was reaching to grab me. The Agent would be operational again in moments, and there was no way – none – that I could either fight or escape it and all of the police simultaneously.
Zephyr was down, Cleo was dead, and Davydd was dying. The mission had failed, completely and catastrophically. We had lost. And we would go on losing.
Forever.
A boot stamping on the human face, forever.
“When the time comes, you will know what to do, and you’ll do it.” Hermes’ words in the simulator came back to me in that moment of complete defeat. Because suddenly, without knowing how, I knew.
The Agents could do extraordinary things in the Matrix – things no human could do. But there were limits in their programs, built-in limits that the AI had designed for its own purposes. With a flash of pure understanding that transcended reason, I realized that the AI hadn’t created me, and I wasn’t bound by those arbitrary limits.
I was done playing by the AI’s rules.
“It stops. It stops now.” My voice was quiet. So quiet no one would hear it, but for the fact that my world was suddenly as silent as deep space and utterly, completely still. Motionless.
I stepped around the police officers who were looking to grab me, ignoring them altogether. They weren’t important anymore. I could have leapt over the bar, but I just walked around it instead. Time was no longer the issue. I would have the time I needed with Davydd.
What was left of him.
I sank to his side and pulled his shattered body into the temporal bubble I had formed in the fabric of the Matrix. He was in shock, the bullet having completely pulverized his left shoulder, and it was beyond clear that he had mere moments to live.
I cradled his body to mine, weeping.
“Who are you?” His voice was a whisper.
When his question registered, my heart ached, recognizing that he couldn’t know what I knew, or see what I saw. Then realization hit me again. I reached out with my mind and broke another ‘rule’ that we had thought to be iron. “Davy . . . Davy! It’s me. It’s your Noelle.” The voice was my own, my real voice, and the arms that held my love were my own arms, smooth, slender, and pale.
My hot tears splashed on his beloved face. His gorgeous eyes, the eyes that had captivated me and held me spellbound, sparked with sudden recognition.
And the memories rushed at me, no longer a trickle but a torrent. I could see them all, like little bubbles – six separate lives, each with a greasy, plastic backstory, now easily separated from the lives I’d actually led. And Davydd was there with me, our spirits twined together like the trunk of a wisteria vine, sharing the memories. So many memories.
It was early January, 1998. A face loomed above me, suffused with ineffable tenderness. I knew that face – every precious line of it. She made a wordless sound, like the coo of a turtledove, and stroked my cheek with an outstretched finger. She was my world, and my mouth, toothless, rooted for her breast. . . .
I was bouncing up and down, for my “stallion,” my Tada, had me on his shoulders and was showing me the meaning of a trot. Up and down I went, squealing with joy, my little dress hiked up, displaying white tights and little black buckled shoes. It was a fine spring day in 1998, and I was five years old . . . .
“You’d BETTER run!” Chasing Davy through what felt like every backyard in Rogerstone, I couldn’t even remember what he’d done to make me so cross. I was seldom cross, really, but Davy did have a talent that way. However scrawny I might be at all of ten, I could outrun any boy my age, and none of the other girls could touch me. It was 1998, holidays had just started, and that devil Davy was about to find out just how fast I really was . . . .
Late September, 1998, found me standing on a bluff, high above the Severn River Estuary. A fresh breeze ruffled my dress, but I paid it no attention. I only had eyes for Davydd, who had always been my best friend. I knew, in that moment, that he would be more than that. So much more! And in his eyes, I could see the same realization strike, like heat lightning out of a cloudless sky. I was fifteen, I was in love, and life was incomparably sweet . . . .
I was staring down at the ring on my left hand – the ring Davydd had just slipped on it, after we had finished exchanging our marriage vows. Silver twisted in a Celtic pattern . . . a modest stone . . . It was perfect. His arm was around my shoulders, warm and welcoming, and his head bent close to my ear as he whispered, “Gyda'n Gilydd Am Byth, Cariad.” It was a fine and cloudless midsummer day in the Year of Our Lord 1998. Our wedding day. . . .
I bent my head, looking at the perfect child I was cradling in one arm. So innocent . . . so beautiful. She took my breath away. I touched her cheek with a single finger, marveling again at how soft her skin was, and a wordless sound of wonder escaped my lips. She smacked her lips and gurgled, reminding me that it was past time.
I raised my top, laughing, worked the flap on my nursing bra, and brought her to my breast. I could not imagine how I had survived twenty-five years, from my birth in November of 1973 until that extraordinary day two months earlier, without this amazing person in my life . . . .
Time stood still as we walked together, as we fought our battles again, as we gazed into each other’s eyes, high above the estuary on a brilliant summer day, as we wed, as we loved . . . . We touched the moments of every life, and everything that had ever been between us, all that had been wiped away but not destroyed.
Not every memory was pleasant, and the last week of our lives together had been utter, unmitigated and undiluted hell.
“Davy!!!!” My scream was full of terror as the car skidded, the wheels hydroplaning, a mechanical screech piercing the dark and rain-drenched night. We spun and slid, and suddenly the road was gone and we were tipping . . . . I reached back, desperate to do something – anything – to shield Bron . . . .
The pain was intense, crashing over us, shredding our very souls as we went through those moments again, and the brutal days that followed. Davydd in the hospital bed, his body and spirit broken; Bronny’s little elfin frame, so tiny in the casket. Oh, Bronwyn!
Despite the pain, I wished that Davydd and I could remain in that place of complete communion. In all our years together, we had never been as close as we were now. But we couldn’t simply live in our past. His spirit, one with my own, shared that realization.
I couldn’t suppress a sob as we returned to the present moment together. “I tried, Davy! I tried to take the bullet!”
“Hush, girl. I know. It’s alright now.”
I thought about what I was doing. With time. With power. Could I save him? Could there be a future for us once more?
He saw it in my face. Maybe read it in my mind, so close were we to each other. “Noelle bach. Don’t.”
“I can’t lose you again!”
His voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t go on, Cariad. I couldn’t then; I can’t now. Please. Please, let me go.” In his voice, I heard the terrible crushing weight of guilt, loss and despair that had destroyed him.
“Davy, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t! I want to fight back – Help me!”
A ghost of a smile played on his pain-ravaged face. “Always the terror, you were. Go on, now, love. Go on. Just . . . strike a blow for Bronwyn . . . and me.”
I shook my head in denial. “No!”
But all the knowledge in the world, all the clever hacks, all the pleas and prayers, couldn’t stop the light from leaving his eyes. We had shared thirty years of life and love and loss, and now, just as we got it all back, it was done.
My anguished cry seared my constricted throat, chasing after his departing spirit. “Gyda'n Gilydd Am Byth, Davy!” But it was too late.
My beloved would never hear my voice again.
So I was left to face the last memory alone, my mind bringing me back in our flat in Rogerstone, staring at the container of pills. Unable to imagine going on without Bron, who was gone. Without Davy, who had no will to go on.
How could I do it? How could I put one foot in front of the other?
I dressed myself carefully. The dark red wool skirt; the cashmere top, soft as rabbit fur, that he had given me for Christmas one year. The black leather boots that came almost to my knees. I brushed my long hair back, braiding the front quarter on one side. I did my face. One last time. Everything just so. Just the way he liked it. And I stared at the pills.
To be, or not to be?
My tears overwhelmed me as I relived those final despairing moments, a memory which intertwined with the pain of my renewed loss in a tight braid of agony. The control I held on the temporal anomaly I had created wavered, slipped. The sound of the world – furious, panicked – began to return.
Somewhere, I knew . . . . Somewhere, in some God-forsaken tower built on the ruins of a human city, a body was being disconnected from the cords and tubes that bound it to the machine’s world, and flushed like so much sewage. In the bowels of the tower, his remains would find their way to a reclamation center, where they would be turned into fats and proteins, now that his usefulness as a power source was finished.
And with that thought, my tears stopped and my control over the bubble I had created stabilized, silencing the world again. The hole in my heart would always be there, but unlike the young woman I had been before, I would not waste away in grief.
Not when there was work to be done.
“I swear to you, Davydd ap Owen, by the love we shared, and by the love we poured out on our daughter. I will see you avenged.”
I laid him down tenderly, closed his sightless eyes, and bent to kiss his brow a final time. I rose and found, as I knew I would, that world remained still, the tableau substantially unchanged from where it had been when I went behind the bar.
Slowly and deliberately, I walked to the spot I had noticed before, where the spark of the Agent program was attempting to transfer from Cleo’s now lifeless body to one of the police officers. Even the Agent hadn’t made much progress.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” I reached out and plucked the spark from the Matrix grid, the code lines that I saw with my second sight. “You’ve done enough.” My mind reached out and twisted, just . . . so. Severed from the energy lines connecting it to the grid, the Agent was deleted. I could almost hear its shriek of protest as its essence came apart.
Zephyr was face down on the ground, pinned by several officers. As gently as I could, I moved them off of him one by one and carefully laid them down, so they wouldn’t go flying into walls in the version of space time that their consciousnesses inhabited.
Could I extend my temporal bubble to cover Zephyr as well? I mentally reached out, twisted, and it was done.
Zephyr rolled and looked up, shocked. “Noelle?”
“Let’s get out of here. We can talk on the way.”
As he rose to his full – and in the Matrix, not very impressive – height, he saw Cleo. “Well, shit.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He looked at me. Took in my female appearance, and the fact that the world around us seemed to have stopped. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”
The doors were jammed with patrons caught in the moment of fleeing, but that was immaterial. We simply stepped through the window that the Agent’s evaded bullets had brought down. Without a backward glance, we went through the covered walkway and out onto Coleman Street, where all of the cars were motionless.
“Back to the Barrister’s Office?” he suggested.
I shrugged. “Works for me.”
We crossed the street, passing a string of police officers rushing toward the pub, oblivious of our presence. Through the windows of the restaurants that lined Great Bell Alley, we could see diners with alarmed expressions. Many were already out of their seats, mouths caught open in the midst of exclamations. This was London in 1998, not Beirut or even Baltimore. The sound of gunfire was not a common occurrence.
“You’re doing this somehow, aren’t you?” Zephyr asked. “You were dodging bullets just like an Agent.”
I nodded. “What the Agents do is a technique – a hack, of sorts, in the basic Matrix Code. It’s not based on speed. Instead, they’re able to slow time down, compute the ballistic path of bullets and move just enough to avoid them. I don’t know why, but their ability to slow time only works for immediate evasive action. It’s a completely artificial limitation though, and I discovered I’m not bound by it.”
“Can you teach us how to do it?”
I thought about that. “I don’t know. The technique seems simple enough, once I saw it. But I don’t know how to teach anyone to see it.”
We walked in silence a bit further, coming to Moorgate Street, which, again, was full of vehicles, and none were moving. As we weaved around the motionless cars, Zephyr said, “And your appearance? I can’t tell you how much I would love to look like myself when I’m inside the Matrix!”
I reached out to the power lines that surrounded me and made an adjustment. “Like this?”
My deeper voice registered and Zephyr looked back, startled. Then he stopped altogether, for I had altered my appearance to match what he looked like in the real world.
“Holy shit!” His mouth was hanging open. But for the fact that traffic was not moving, he would have been flattened long since.
I switched my appearance back and shrugged. “It’s kind of the same thing. Hermes provided the clue; he stopped aging in the Matrix decades ago, so ‘residual self image’ has no direct connection to your appearance outside the Matrix. It’s just code, and it can be changed.”
“If you can see it,” he amended.
“Right.”
We stepped into the alley that for some reason merited the title of ‘street,’ and continued walking. There were fewer people on Telegraph Street, but they had the same startled and alarmed looks on their faces as the people closer to the pub. The sound of gun shots carries a long way.
“What triggered all this? You didn’t have these abilities before.”
“I don’t know. Not exactly. When I saw the Agent dodging our bullets, I was suddenly able to see exactly how it did it. But I didn’t understand how to get around the limits the AI built into Agents’ abilities. Not at first. Not until . . . .” I faltered. Took a breath. Took another.
We had to get through this together, Zephyr and I.
He was looking at me, his pixie face showing concern as my distress registered. “Until what? Noelle, you look like hell. What happened in there?”
“Davydd died, Zephyr. He was hit by . . . by one of the Agent’s shots.”
The blood drained from his face and he looked sick. “Oh . . . oh, my God! That’s why you stopped dodging. What have I done?”
I didn’t hesitate for an instant. I pulled him into an iron embrace and whispered fiercely into his wild, spiky hair. “You did what you had to do. What I couldn’t do, no matter what was at stake. No matter how many lifetimes I lived.”
I squeezed his slender form as if I could imprint my words into his heart by brute force. “Now listen to me, and don’t ever forget it! Davydd’s death was not your fault! The machines killed him! The machines! Not once, but twice.”
“But . . . .”
“NO!!!” I could barely contain my urgency, my passionate desire to stop him from taking even a single step down this destructive path. “No, no, no!!! I might have saved him tonight. I’m not sure how; I’m still figuring out the extent of my ability to manipulate the forces inside the Matrix. But he didn’t want me to try! Don’t you see? He couldn’t stop blaming himself . . . blaming himself for Bronwyn’s death. Don’t – God, Zephyr, please don’t – go making the same mistake! We need you. I need you!”
I felt a surge of hope, as one arm, then another, slowly, tentatively — even painfully — rose to return my embrace. “I am so sorry, Noelle. So very, very sorry.”
I thought of my last moments with Davydd, and a tear once more slipped down my cheek, sliding into Zephyr’s hair. “Me, too. Beyond words. He was a good man, and I loved him with all my heart. I will never forget him. But that’s why I have to go on. I need to live for all of us now – for Davy and Bronwyn and me.”
His delicate hands slid across my back, providing the comfort that only human contact can. “Can you manage it?”
It was a good question. My rage, my desire for vengeance, was unabated. But was it enough? Could I live for vengeance alone? Did I need to? Should I?
My question came back to me, the one I had asked Zephyr after we’d made love in his cabin on the Belisarius. “Are our lives just one crisis after another . . . brief moments of vigilant inactivity, followed by running, fighting, running some more . . . until the day our number comes up we get killed?”
I cupped his cheek with my hand. “Not alone. Are you with me?”
He brought his hands around to touch my face in turn. “If you’ll have me.”
I kissed him then, even though he looked like a pixie. It’s all just code, and that means nothing. It was a light and gentle kiss, more promise than passion. I had just said my last farewells to Davydd, and I had only begun to grieve.
But I wasn’t a fifteen-year-old ingenue anymore. When Davydd and I had kissed for the first time and acknowledged the love that burned between us, I had thought the world was a beautiful place and we would have forever. I knew better now.
Zephyr and I were engaged in a deadly struggle against fearsome odds. Who knows how long we might have? Whatever time we were given, I was determined not to squander it.
A few minutes later, we stood in the small office that belonged to Sidney Westen, a distinguished barrister and aspiring silk enjoying a bit of holiday in Majorca . . . a human male, lying naked in a lozenge-shaped capsule filled with fluid, powering the machines that ran his life. Who would he be, when the Matrix next rebooted?
“Okay, Noelle,” Zephyr said. “Let’s go home.”
Epilogue: First Check
It was a moving service, and it felt like all of Rogerstone was there. Davydd’s parents, Owen and Eleri Carew, were the principal mourners. It hurt to see their once-merry faces so haggard. Again.
They had looked the same, the last time I’d seen them. After the car “accident” that cost them their beloved granddaughter, and tore the very heart from their son. I had stood with them at her grave, and again at his hospital bed, weeping tears that never seemed to stop.
In this version of the Matrix, Davydd had been unmarried and the little corner of the graveyard where I had buried poor Bronwyn was empty. Davydd’s remains would go there now. That, I could not bear to see.
I felt like I knew each and every person in St. John’s that morning. Mrs. Davies, who’d taught my second grade class . . . and who, four “updates” later, had been an older friend in my book group. Devon Terry, who used to pull my ponytail back at Eveswell Primary. Grim old Gareth Roberts, who wielded the meat cleavers at the butcher shop. Mary Hughes, who’d organized food to be delivered to our flat – Davydd’s and mine – when Davy was in hospital. I had memories that attached to every face.
They didn’t question the woman in the red wool skirt who stood in the back of the church . . . it’s the Lord’s house and all are welcome in it. But I was unknown here in this timeline, my history erased. Even my parents did not appear to live here.
It wasn’t home anymore.
I left the church amid the stream of mourners, but walked away, down Kensington Place to Chepstow Road. There, I knew, I would find a phone box, because of course there was a phone box. The big, red, extravagant variety that serves as a symbol of Britain the world over. I crossed the street, a cool wind swirling my skirt.
I stepped inside, closed the door, and lifted the black handset, seeing, a final time, the simple silver ring in a Celtic design on my finger. I didn’t need coins. I didn’t need to dial. I only had to think, to see the lines of energy, the code behind the pleasant facade of a small community in South Wales. Merlin’s own country. To reach out with my mind and tug just . . . so.
I was in contact with the enemy. I knew it was there, and it knew me. From somewhere deep inside, the words came to me. It was not a memory, I was sure of that. And yet the words flowed out, like I had spoken them before, or would speak them again.
"I know you're out there,” I said into the handset, my voice low. “I can feel you now. I know that you're afraid. You're afraid of us. You're afraid of change. I don't know the future. I didn't come here to tell you how this is going to end. I came here to tell you how it's going to begin.”
I stared across the street, at the small shops that loomed large in the memories of my childhood. I thought about Davydd, and about Bronwyn. I thought about Hermes, about Blake and Dakota, Kai and Abhaya. About Zephyr, watching right now, as my real-world body sat silent on the chair at his side, a cold and deadly probe in my brain. I thought about all the people I had known and loved and lost.
“I'm going to hang up this phone, and then I'm going to show these people what you don't want them to see. I'm going to show them a world without you. A world without rules and controls, without borders or boundaries. A world where anything is possible. . . . Where we go from there is a choice I leave to you."
I replaced the handset, stepped out of the booth, and said good morning to an older woman who was walking her Yorkie, bundled against the chill of Autumn.
Then I looked to the heavens, and willed myself to fly.
The end.
Author's note: So the story ends where the original Matrix movie ended – basically, at the end of the beginning. I believe that the studios made a mistake when they decided to do sequels, following visions of dollar signs as they generally do. The first movie was an artistic masterpiece in every way, and should have been allowed to stand alone.
I want to thank all of you who stayed with me to the end of the story, particularly if you left kudos. My fickle muse generally just gives me the barest outline of an idea before she bounces off on the arm of some other, far sexier, author, so I have to rely on perspiration rather than inspiration to grind it out each week. Knowing someone is actually reading it helps me get through the blocks and over the bumps.
My very special thanks, as always, go to those who participated in the creation of the story by leaving comments – Kimmie, Rachel Moore, Dee Sylvan, Erisian, DorothyColleen, Sunflowerchan, Catherd, RobertLouis, Guest Reader, AlisonP, Dreamweaver, Michelle SidheElf, Eric, JoanneBarbarella, Dallas Eden, Alan, Asche, Dave (“Outsider”), Ray Drouillard, and Leona MacMurchie. Your continued support makes all the difference in the world.
I need to give an extra shout-out to RobertLouis for looking over several key chapters before I posted them, to make sure that my English characters stayed in character, as it were. His suggestions were always amazingly helpful.
Good night again, and joy be with you all!
Emma
For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.
Comments
an ending, and a beginning
well done. thank you for sharing it with us
Thanks, Dot!
I suppose there’s a new beginning implied at the end of every story . . . some more than others. Thank you for your comments and support.
Emma
Wake up!
The closing rock your brains out "Wake Up" by Rage Against the Machine was so fitting for the original movie and as I read Noelle's final words to the AI at the end of this story - this song fit equally as well (and is now an earworm! lol).
This story is a totally original twist - fanfic if you must - based on a classic (Duh!). But it sets itself apart through a story thread that bends prospective, the bounds of character endearment (I didn't feel half as connected to Neo as I did Noelle due to the development of her character, back story, her deep loves (lost and possible)). This story really sucks you in to seeing, feeling the conflict, and ends much like where the first movie should have stayed - with hope we get to decide / believe came about. This story is Trans based entertainment certainly I found period correct (including Brit-speak), and just another masterful offering by a highly talented author writing circles around the Matrix of this type of fiction.
Brilliant Ms. Emma... Absolutely brilliant. Thank you for all your efforts and sharing yet another gem!
XOXOXO
Rachel M. Moore...
The song fits equally well
And it had better, since Noelle’s final message to the AI is the same one Neo gives at the end of the first movie, word-for-word. ;-) I very deliberately began and ended the story in a way that directly paralleled that masterpiece, while taking the middle parts in a completely different direction.
I am so glad you enjoyed this one, Rachel. I know I kind of threw “realism” in the trash can, what with four-foot vertical leaps, temporal anomalies and what-not. Thanks for powering through the stunts and seeing the parts that really mattered. Love ya, Chicka!
Emma
Matrix Decision
I've read several fan rewritings of the Matrix, both TG and non, but this was the best I've read. I enjoyed it a lot, and your proposed explanations of some things not well explained in the movies. I enjoyed it very much.
After Neo killed the sentinels that destroyed the Nebuchadnezzar at the end of the second movie, I started writing my own (unfinished, destroyed in a hard drive crash) fanfic, continuing the tale with Neo waking from the coma and telling Morpheus what he'd discovered, that the "real world" wasn't really the real world, but just a deeper level of the Matrix, another level of control, to pacify those who didn't accept the main level of the Matrix, and that's why Neos powers still worked and let him attack the sentinels... I had the plot worked out, but forget a lot of it now. Just that Neo's discovery led to them finding a way to free people for real and save humanity from the Matrix.
Then the Matrix 3 came out, and I was all "aww, nuts. My version would have been much cooler..."
Story! Story! Story!
You should totally write your story, Lisa! I have no doubt your ending would be way cooler than what the studio suits came up with. :)
I haven’t read any Matrix fanfic, TG or otherwise. I did do a search on this site to make sure I wasn’t stepping on anyone else’s story, and was actually surprised not to find anything. The Matrix seems so well-suited to TG fiction that I was sure someone had already written up my idea and done a better job of it. But I’m delighted that it worked for you, especially since you’ve got more background in these stories than I do. Thank you!
Emma
TG Matrix
I don't know if it was here or Fictionmania (probably was), but I did read one a long time ago where they freed Neo (male in the Matrix), and discovered she was female in the real world, explained by the author as an attempt by the AIs to understand human gender identity by intentionally giving someone a Matrix body opposite their real sex. No idea the story's name, though.
This is the second...
This is the second time I've shed tears over a story. The first time was when I was sixteen years old and invested in well written fanfiction. You wrapped everything up, as best as you could. You did well, you wrote one of the best fanfictions of the 'Matrix' I've ever had the pleasure of reading. And you invited me, somebody who's never ever seen the movies, nor read the books, who had not the slightest idea of the lore to follow along as you tried to hammer this story home? And in the end you mentioned me? I'm choking, choking on the raw emotions you captured with your wonderful prose, fighting back the tears spilling down my eyeducts for a character that I was just starting to understand and trying to progress what it all means. You strapped me in for one hell of a rollercoaster ride, and you sent me roaring down the tracks, and knowning you, you were sitting on the sidelines laughing as I screamed with each loop, twist and turn that blast cart took! And now, as the ride comes to a end, you, you are peering at me, smirking, as I hold the handle bars of the cart, shaking, face as white as a sheet, and braided pigtails plastered to the side of my head, and I can just hear you asking in your best Janet tone of voice 'Did you have fun?' and trembling, I would say 'Yes!' my dear, it we the readership who should be thanking you! Thanking you for strapping us into this loopside rollercoaster! I hope you strap me into another loopside rollercoaster, one with more dare devil loops, more sharp turns and more gut wrenching moments. Because I learn from those type of stories. Thank you dear heart I can't wait to see what your mind comes up with next.
You’ve got Janet down, sure enough!
But I’d be more likely, in this instance, to speak through a different character, whom you probably haven’t encountered yet — Nicole Fontaine. She would lift the bar of your cart, see your tears, and gently ask, “Are you alright?”
Thank you, my dear, for such a glowing review. I’m sorry about Cleo — I know you were rooting for her redemption— but the Queen behind the whole mission always had other ideas. Hugs!
Emma
AI
Well it is interesting to see that the AI is actually powerless to prevent her from doing anything she pleases now.
This would mean no more Matrix Reset events for starters and the beginning of remediation of those poor souls trapped there.
I was right that the AI superimposes the agents on existing projections of matrix denizens and killing one (probably a first) would likewise kill its 'rider' for want of a better word.
I like the communication that is going on with the now-in-charge human basically saying:
Oh AIIIIIIIII, you have some 'splaining' to do!
As for the limitations the Agents have, I think the AI in the past had circumvented what was thought to be firm human control of the Matrix and the limitations were actually put there by the designers which the AI, even now, cannot circumvent.
Finally, a human has arrived who has relearned those rules meant to prevent an AI apocalyse.
And Thank You, Emma, for gifting us with such imaginative talent.
Killing agents
There are actually a couple examples of Agents being “killed” in the first Matrix movie. Most memorably, in the rooftop sequence we see an Agent take over a helicopter pilot, jump down and start shooting at Neo. Trinity kills it with a bullet at point-blank range, whereupon the body reverts to the poor helicopter pilot, now quite dead. The Agent, meanwhile, simply moves to another host downstairs. So I felt pretty solid that what happened to Cleo was consistent with canon.
Kimmie, thank you so much for continuing to read, and even comment, with all that you are going through. I hope at very least I provided a few minutes of diversion for you. Take good care, my friend, and know that you are loved here.
Emma
Dodge this!
Trinity was a badass in that movie. I just didn't quite see how an agent could morph into the person's body and then leave when they died. Why would the person die? oy vey! :DD
DeeDee
Trinity
Yeah, Trinity was smoking hot! Keanu Reeves was cool, sure. But Trinity was better. Carrie Ann Moss-some!
Emma
Very, very good - again!
I can't pretend I'm not disappointed the ride is over, but it is a good place to end the story. I consider that, up to this point, the story has been one of personal development / evolution, and the film sequels were more about being an action movie - not that I wouldn't enjoy your take on a continuation!
What will your vivid and fertile imagination come up with next? I can't wait to find out...
Alison
The tank’s a bit dry just at present
Thank you, Alison! I’m glad you enjoyed the story. This was always where I meant to end it, because the internal development required to turn the Noel Ferguson we meet at the beginning of the story into not just Noelle, but “the One,” was what interested me the most.
As for what comes next, I’ll have to rely on a visit from my muse, who’s been absent since she coaxed Inheritances out of me. I do have a mid-length addition to the Camiverse ready to go, but I’m waiting to post it until Doppler starts printing Aria.
Warmest regards always,
Emma
Commentary
Even though the brain has turned to tapioca from the day, I shall comment anyway - therefore any incoherency is thereby attributed to the Matrix wherein I get up, shower, plug in to the required persona/avatar, and go pretend to be a masked variant to the true self.
This was a fun TG-spin on the movie, and also was fun as you again stretched your writing skills in further directions. Thanks for the enjoyable romp!
Now for the Matrix ramble as warned! It's interesting that you went with the Matrix 'reset' storyline, as that really didn't get fleshed out until the second/third movies. In the first, Neo was more of a 'Second Coming' - prophesied that the 'One' would return, but not necessarily the exact same 'One'. With the hint at reincarnation (which was more metaphorical, really) from the Oracle with her comment about Neo: 'You got the gift, but it looks like you're waiting for something... Your next life, maybe.' Which of course is 'true' because he died and then came back - which your take both follows but also doesn't, as her 'death' was met with a full system reset instead of a biological stop/omg-restart. What the films never answered though is whatever happened to the previous 'Ones' after each reset had been initiated by them returning to the 'Source'/Architect. They freed the 'first of us' (each time!) to establish a new Zion...and then what? Walked into the sunset? Muttered something about Balance in the Force and then self-yeeted into a volcano? Always wondered about that. In your version the AI just resets things every so often to keep the decade facade intact directly, and so the story rejects the later films while still taking something from them.
Right...probably enough ramble for now, though pontificating about the ridiculous inefficiency of using humans as a power source could be entertaining, especially when they have 'fusion power' already. :) Love ya, Emma! <3
Not Orthodox, but . . .
My intent, which I may or may not have achieved, was to write a story in the Matrix universe that was consistent with the movies’ canon, but explored things the movies didn’t explain. Not orthodox as such, but certainly not heresy either. I was aiming for heterodoxy. So I hope I didn’t actually reject anything from the later movies. I didn’t mean to.
My short, periodic reset idea wasn’t discussed in the films. They talked about “big” resets, where the AI changed the nature of the Matrix simulation altogether. They had the “good” world where nothing bad happened (but the subjects rejected it) and the “bad” world with weird critters like the Merovingian. Eventually they settled on a 1990s sim and appeared to have stuck with that. But, you can’t have our world stay in the late 1990s for more than a few years, so I think the regular reset is implicit in the concept.
I’m glad you enjoyed the story, Seraph. Thank you, as always, for your wonderful comments and support. Now don’t go eating the tapioca— you’ll need it tomorrow!
Emma
As ever…
…with a story that I’ve enjoyed, there’s deep sorrow to see it come to an end. And “enjoyed” doesn’t go nearly far enough in describing the unique relationship that I’ve had with this story after you offered me the opportunity to participate in editing and advising on those chapters set in and around the square mile of the City of London as I had worked there during the specific period covered by Noelle’s intervention with Cleo and the Agents. It was both a pleasure and a privilege, and I would dive at any opportunity to assist in the future. You’re a lovely lady.
As to this finale, Davydd’s demise is as inevitable as it is heartbreaking, while Cleo’s departure is a simple and unemotional chessboard sacrifice in the end.
As others have said, Noelle’s ending is no such thing; it’s about defining a new path with fresh resolve. Bearing in mind that I have yet to see any of the Matrix films and am unacquainted with the mythology surrounding them, I don’t know if she’s going to fight from the Belisarius or in her corporeal form, but one thing is certain. She’s going to fight.
I’ve done my customary triple read, but I’m still feeling deeply emotional about the entire story arc and rather obviously about Noelle’s various emotional lives. Thanks Emma. Yet again it’s a tribute to your remarkable talent, strength and versatility as a writer. And I really did working together.
Take a breather. You’ve earned it.
Rob xxx
☠️
The privilege is all mine . . . .
Dear Rob — I really enjoyed working with you on the London-based chapters. I wanted to send you the last chapter as well, but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise! Hopefully I didn’t screw anything up too badly, though the critical bits this time were actually set in South Wales. I know we’ve got lots of folks from Wales on the site (Bronwen_Welsh, just for example!), but I don’t know any of them well enough to ask.
In any event, despite what I said to Alison just yesterday morning, I got a nibble of an idea later in the day that involves another transpondian adventure. I need to noodle it a bit to see if there’s anything there — so far, my muse hasn’t done much more than show a little ankle— but if there is, I’d love to “chat” with you about it. :D
Beyond all that, I’m also delighted that you got the heart of the story, which was all about Noelle’s internal journey. I had honestly thought the Matrix tie-in would be a hook for readers, but it clearly was more of a barrier. I’m glad that the story still worked for you, and for a few others, who had no familiarity with the movies. With all that said, Rob — do yourself a favor, take an evening, and watch the first movie!!!
Much love,
Emma
Your reply
…demanded a response, and I’ll add a short reflection on Dee’s emotional reaction which was only slightly greater than mine. I had two major lump in throat moments during the story: the final moments of Davydd, and then Noelle’s soto voce determination to the Matrix’s false universe in her final speech, followed by the inspirational metaphor of her reaching for the skies. Superb.
And I will seek out the first Matrix movie, but with considerable trepidation.
Why? Because you have created such a complete and compelling universe in my head, that’s why, and to use the old adage, which invariably proves to be the case, the film is never as good as the book.
I’d welcome any opportunity to collaborate in the future, but if you fancy a chat at any time on any subject, please feel free. Apart from anything else, we had a lot of fun!
Take care
Rob xxx
☠️
Another Emma Classic!
I am a big Matrix fan, the first movie, that is. But your story should have been the one made into the movie. Who knows what changes Lilly and Lana made to make it palatable to Hollywood, but your portrayal of Noelle, Cleo, Davydd, and Zephyr were far better storylines.
I never quite expect it, but your stories always manage to turn on a very cleansing waterworks display for this awestruck reader and the climactic end of this story was intense and gripping.
I especially liked the way you use the multiple resets and Noelle's memory is able to dredge up her heart breaking experiences with Davydd and Bronwyn. Why would the Matrix build in such tragedies...would they increase the energy output through intense emotions? Probably nothing quite so dramatic, they just do it because it has always happened.
In the original, Trinity and Neo was the requisite love story. But Trinity coaxing Neo back from the dead makes no sense to me, and I'm glad this classic discards that bit of fluff and instead deals with Noelle's revelation in a tender, emotional classic tragedy.
Whether you are writing about family dysfunction in Duets or Aria, or the majesty of nature in Always and Forever or Science Fiction, your stories leave me in awe. Thank you for pouring out your heart to us, my dear. :DD
DeeDee
I had this little fantasy. . .
. . . that Lilly or Lana would somehow get hold of the story and PM me a thumbs-up! Now that would be cool!
But you know what’s even better? Knowing that I finished it in a way that made Dee Sylvan cry. Really. You have been such a support and an inspiration this past year. I’m so happy I’m able to give back a bit with stories that move you.
Thank you, my dear. Always!
Emma