The Matrix: Unneed Heroism - The Story of Mors

"Though you feel guilty about your past, there will be a time when you must chose between coming to terms with that past, or being of benefit to others."
--The Oracle’s Prediction for Mors

Prologue: Hiram Maxwell

“Mr. Maxwell? You’ve received a package.”

“Who would be sending me a package at work?” Hiram Maxwell, a young man fresh out of college working at Duncan Technology Deliveries, quickly closed his Internet Explorer search window as the mail woman came by.

“I don’t know, but it says Hiram Maxwell on it, therefore it’s yours.” The woman handed it to him. He set it aside, more interested in what he was doing before than in the package. Sitting back in his chair, he gave the mouse a click and brought up the internet browser again. He read the news article he had searched for quickly.

“Calhoun and his band of criminals known as the Cadmus Gang have struck again, but this time authorities may have found a way to keep track of them. Just yesterday, one of his cohorts was captured by the CIA, a man known simply as Luger. The CIA is having troubles finding his records, and he shall go by Luger until then. He was found driving down the highway towards...”

The package started ringing, giving Hiram a scare. He tore open the package and popped out the cell phone, answering the call. “Hello?”

“Hiram, you need to get out of there...”

“Chloris?”

“That’s right, honey, now go! They’re coming for you...”

“Who is?”

“No time! Get to the main lobby, and quick! Take the stairs!”

Hiram left his cubicle, still holding the cell phone to his ear. His pace was brisk, and he reached the bottom of the stairs with no trouble. “Alright, Hiram, I want you to stay calm. Agents are headed towards you, but Calhoun and Ominous will be there before they are. They can defend you, don’t worry...”

When Hiram saw Calhoun and Ominous enter, he knew it was them. Calhoun was very chiseled in his looks, with wavy black hair graying at the temples, a pair of sais in hand. Ominous, guns strapped to him, two Glock 17s drawn, moved in behind him, a dark and mysterious figure.

“Hiram, time to leave,” Calhoun said to him with a British accent. “Before the Agents show...”

BLAM! A bullet whizzed past Calhoun’s head. Hiram, startled, threw himself to the floor, but Ominous got him to his feet and went out the door with him. Hiram turned to see Calhoun engaging a suited man in close combat, but Ominous pushed him into a seemingly brand-new 1969 Ford Mustang Fastback.

“Stay down!” Ominous shouted, firing his Glock 17s through the window of the lobby and at the suited man. Miraculously, the man bent in multiple directions at impossible speeds, the bullets missing dramatically. But as Ominous continued to fire, Calhoun saw his chance to escape. Drawing his own pistols, he ran and leaped towards Ominous, twisting around backwards to face the suited man and firing. The man continued to bend and twist, bullets destroying the nice marble plating of the pillars nearby. Calhoun landed on the ground and rolled to his feet.

“Quick, into the car!” Calhoun ordered. Ominous nodded in agreement, then somersaulted over the car and hopped into the driver’s seat. Calhoun called shotgun, and the Mustang sped away.

And this was how Hiram Maxwell, alias Mors, escaped the Matrix.

Chapter 1: Captain Mors

“Captain Mors, we can‘t go on the highway, we‘ll get murdered!”

“I am positive, Atlas, in my decision.”

“What if you are wrong?”

“As my First Mate, I would think you would trust me with this situation...”

“Sorry, Captain.”

A black 1958 Limited Convertible Buick, complete with chrome cresting and a red leather interior, pulled up onto the highway. The car had been modified drastically with a larger engine, more space for the interior, and an emplacement for two Heckler-Koch MG-43s. Within the trunk and the back of the car, dozens of firearms and clips sat in crates. The license plate read “Jabberwocky,” appropriately abbreviated.

Captain Mors rode shotgun. Young and muscular, he had just become Captain of the Jabberwocky for his hard work and endurance, for keeping a level head in combat, for saving the lives of his friends and fellow crew members time and time again. While he did not fight particularly fast or hard, he had great skill with melee weaponry, primarily a sword. Today he had left his black leather trench coat behind, wearing his black dress shirt and pants and his red-and-gold silk vest. His eyes shone greater than any light reflected in his glasses, for he was joyous this mission.

Beneath him was a hardy crew, either fresh from training in Zion or from other ships. Atlas was his First Mate, right hand man, and driver, a sturdy black man who had been raised in what the Matrix had told him was Hell’s Kitchen, a man who preferred the tactic of hitting hard enough to take his opponents down in a short exchange of blows. Hector, a fair-haired Greek used knives and light pistols to put things straight. Trojan was their local gunner, carrying an SG-552 assault rifle, numerous pistols, and lots of extra magazines. Blaze preferred hand-to-hand combat, but carried twin Glock 18s with her just in case.

“We destroyed two of the bulletproof programs, I am sure we can handle two more...” Trojan said cheerfully, loading a clip into his sniper rifle.

“But there will be police, I am sure, and that means Agents!” Atlas yelled back to him. “Highways have always been suicidal to get on, even Captain Calhoun knew that...”

“Then, if it is suicide, we’ll just have to try a little harder, hmm?” Mors replied, loading a clip into an SG-552 assault rifle, heavy weapon of choice for the crew of the Jabberwocky.

The whole time, bullets had be flying past their car, rounds expelled from the barrels of shotguns and Berettas and Glock 17s. So far, none had hit the antique car or the men within, but the police cars were closing in fast. Mors kept his eyes peeled for the black Lexus that he was sure would pull into the fray eventually.

Main worry, however, was the silver Daihatsu X-021 that was headed towards them at disturbing speeds. Driving was a program known as Ha, and riding shotgun was another program known as Panzer. Both were exiled programs, rebellious of the System deletion process, that had been designed to combat the rebels, before Agents were designed as a superior alternative. They were known as Bulletproof Programs, immune to all forms of ranged attacks that involved bullets.

If Mors had a crossbow or a grenade launcher, he could have taken care of them easily, but he currently had neither. His crew simply had to choose the best way to handle them: blow up their car or lure them into close combat.

Panzer, with the body of what appeared to be a German man, took aim at the Limited Convertible Buick with a G36 assault rifle. Trojan unleashed a bullet from his sniper directly at Panzer’s head, but he bent to the side and the bullet passed through his shoulder. The bullet hole, bloodless and clean, closed up fast. Then Panzer pulled the trigger. Atlas sped up, just enough to keep the first bullets from hitting, then changed lanes, the rest missing.

Ha looked up to Panzer, and Mors read his lips as he said, “Take the wheel.” Panzer nodded, putting down the G36 in exchange for two MP5Ks and changing seats. The program fired through a little slot that they had installed into their car for that very purpose while taking the speed of the chase up another notch.

“Faster Atlas!” Mors shouted as Ha got up on the hood of the car and prepared to jump forwards. “And then brake!”

The Buick went faster, as did the Daihatsu, while Ha climbed out onto the hood of the car. As he prepared to leap, Blaze fired one of the machine guns. Ha somersaulted over the hail of lead. The hood and windshield of the X-021 were peppered with bullets, damaging the engine and effectively slowing the car. Ha, however, landed on the extended back of the Limited Convertible Buick, just between the MG-43s with two shin-gunto Japanese military swords drawn.

“Brake!” Mors ordered, and Atlas threw on the brakes. Ha, not expecting such a move, was thrown forwards and through the windshield of the Buick. The X-021 rammed the back of the Buick, and in turn was rammed by another car as they halted traffic. Police cars whizzed by, calling a cease fire as they did not want to shoot any people near the cars that were not involved.

Panzer, having bashed his head against the steering wheel, was groggy and half-conscious. He started to get up, but Mors leapt into the air, sword drawn, and drove it through the windshield and into Panzer’s chest. The program keeled over, then faded away in a flurry of green Matrix coding. Ha recovered, rolling off the hood of the car and onto the street, taking a defensive stance.

“Gun it!” Mors ordered. A round whizzed past his head, incredibly close, and he threw back his arm to avoid being hit by another. A third skimmed his side as the Buick started moving. Mors fell off the back of the car, having been standing and trying to avoid bullets, and the Buick roared away, nearly running over Ha.

“Mr. Maxwell!” called out a man in a suit. He had a Desert Eagle out and had been firing the shots that Mors had just avoided. The Agent approached slowly, gun pointed forwards and firing. Mors strafed the shots and just narrowly ducked under the first sword swing from Ha, blocking the second with a metallic clang. The Agent blurred as Trojan began making steady shots to keep the Agent at bay and Blaze let loose on the MG-43. Mors struck back at Ha, who bent back and let the blow sail over him. Mors brought it down a little as he pulled his sword back, slicing lightly across Ha’s chest.

The Agent tossed down his gun smugly, fixed his cufflinks, and approached the two combatants. He aimed a stellar punch at Ha and then kicked at Mors, both of the targets putting their swords in the way to make life difficult. Mors’ riposted, but missed, as did Ha, but the Agent’s punch landed firmly on Ha’s jaw, the kick colliding with a car instead. Mors performed his own kick, jumping backwards and pushing off the car, kicking the Agent in the stomach and pushing him back a bit. He ducked as Ha’s shin-gunto sword twirled on by, then spun to open the car door, slamming it into Ha. One of the shin-gunto swords became lodged within the metal as Ha tried to push it through to stab Mors, but Mors slammed the car door closed, relieving Ha of his second sword.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Mors and Ha exchanged blows before the Agent attacked again, this time at Mors only. He pulled back his fist with a mischievous grin and set it forwards. Mors threw himself to the side just as Atlas’ Buick roared towards the Agent. The fist hit air, the Agent having aimed it at Mors’ head rather than the lower hood of the car, and the Agent was run over. The crew in the car fired dozens of rounds at Ha as their Captain swung his katana around. While the bullets had no effect, it did give Ha something to think about as Mors stabbed.

“Gah!” shouted Ha as Mors made the killing blow, driving his katana into Ha’s chest as he had done with Panzer. The body slumped over, fading away to green before it hit the ground.

“Let’s get out of here, Captain...” Atlas said with a grin. Mors returned the smile, jumping into the car as Blaze and Trojan fired the machine guns, blowing up a few police cars and causing the Agent to change hosts again as it was caught up in the high amount of bullets.

Chapter 2: Casualties

The Jabberwocky was flying through a sewer line, as it was built for doing, somewhere beneath what used to be London, England. While someone may still be British, in the year 2199, they were not from Great Britain. There was no Great Britain. There was no Europe. There was only Zion, the last colony where what was left of mankind resided, protected on all sides by iron walls and mile after mile of the Earth’s crust, and the Machine World, which was the rest of the Earth. But the Jabberwocky had left the security and warmth of Zion to do what it was made for. Manned by a sturdy crew, it was to broadcast them into the Matrix, a synthetic world that they had all once thought was real. The Machines had made them believe that they had free will. Now they wanted revenge.

“Captain Mors, we’re approaching broadcast depth,” the Operator of the ship announced with a hint of disgust. He was a lithe man, dressed in an assortment of grease-stained sweaters, his hair thinning. Mors was a middle-aged black man, his head clean-shaven, his face bright, likewise dressed in warm but torn clothing. Unlike the Operator, he had numerous plugs on his arms and chest, and a large coaxial plug at the base of his skull. They were seen as scars from being an ignorant coppertop in the Matrix. They were also the signs of a warrior, for all the soldiers of Zion had these plugs. It was how they got back into the very thing they had escaped.

He turned on the ship’s intercom and spoke into it. “All hands to the main deck. We’re preparing to go in.”

Within moments, the Captain’s orders were carried out, every man and woman aboard the Jabberwocky standing at attention next to a circle of worn leather Ecto chairs. There were four of them in all, not including Captain Mors, all battle-hardened. They could do anything the Captain required of them; pilot the ship, repair the ship, defend the ship, abandon ship, and so on.

“A briefing, if you please?” the one named Hector asked. He was tall and fair-haired, but covered with scars.

Mors cleared his throat. “The Melchizedek has contacted us with a plea for help. Two of their crew members are trapped in the Matrix, under the watch of a SWAT team.” He turned to the Operator. “Any signs of Agents?”

“Yes, all three,” Hack replied with a worried look. The rest of the crew could tell he thought the Captain was insane.

“I figured. The Melchizedek requires our help in their plan to get them out. We are to create a distraction large enough to lure the SWAT team and, primarily, the Agents away from where their crew members are pinned down.”

“Which crew members?” asked Atlas, a stocky black man and Mors’ first mate.

“Voodoo, a martial arts expert, and Quicksilver, a guns specialist.”

“What did you have in mind as a distraction?” asked Blaze, a blonde who wore very little in or out of the Matrix.

“Well, you could walk in there and strip for them...” Hector jeered, but Blaze elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Mors ignored their squabbling. “We are going to use a bus lined with enough C4 to put a hole in the simulated Earth and run it down to the intersection of Forty-second Street and White Rabbit Lane. Trojan will be in charge of detonating the explosives. If that fails to get their attention, we shall openly attack the SWAT.”

“That’s suicide!” Atlas spat. “The Agents could easily deal with us, and the SWAT outnumber us twenty to one.”

“We only need to distract the coppertops and Agents for a short time. Hack will have several exits waiting for us nearby, in case things go awry. Voodoo and Quicksilver will likely be out of the Matrix by then. Or at least on the move.”

“I think that’s a great idea!” Trojan said happily. He found joy in blowing things up.

“Then let us make haste,” Mors replied, settling himself into one of the Ecto chairs. Hack strapped down his feet and bound his hands to the chair. The others did likewise, waiting for Hack to come around and fasten them in.

After running through the Construct load-out quickly, picking up guns and swords and whatnot from the tables that had appeared before them in the Construct, they were plugged into the Matrix. The Matrix itself snapped together like pieces of a gargantuan puzzle, leaving them standing in a derelict motel room. Laden with weaponry, they shuffled outside, where a bus was waiting for them. Trojan got to work inside the bus, wiring the bombs.

The Captain was beaming with his brilliance, knowing full well that his plans would work out. He had not failed a mission yet. He had selected his best uniform for the occasion, a black suit with a ruby red vest and gold tie under a black trench coat which was buttoned at the front. In addition, an elaborate sword scabbard was strapped to his belt, containing his number one weapon, a katana, modeled after the one he had obtained from what had once been Tokyo in the Real World.

Trojan got to work setting up the bombs, attaching them to the underside and placing even more inside the bus, then said he was ready to commence with the plan. He kept the detonator in his hands as Atlas and Hector placed a heavy bar on the gas pedal. The bus sped forwards, smashing through the traffic.

“And now for the fireworks display!” Trojan announced as he activated the charges. The bus became a vast fireball, consuming the intersection and setting fire to a few of the building nearby. The concussion knocked people off their feet, shattered windows of buildings and cars, the flames blowing up a few cars nearby, people scampering away and leaping out of them as the fire licked at their vehicles’ gas tanks. The incinerated shell of the bus sat sizzling in the center of the intersection.

“Well, if that doesn’t get any attention from our friends in suits, then nothing will,” Hector muttered to himself.

Seconds after the intersection had been incinerated, a taxi screeched to a halt, an Agent emerging from the driver’s seat. His hair was combed perfectly to the side, matching the default neatness of his crisp suit. His face was emotionless, his eyes hidden by a pair of rectangular sunglasses. Nearly quicker than the human eye, he had a pistol in hand.

“Run!” Blaze shouted, drawing two Glock 18 automatic pistols and sprinting to the intersection. Trojan followed, SG-552 assault rifle in hand.

“We’ll meet you at the exit,” Mors told him, directing Hector to go with them. Hector nodded, drawing a light pistol and a good-sized knife. He took off after them. Mors and Atlas hurried the other way. Mors draw his katana slowly and calmly, even though he was running wildly.

“Are you sure they’ll be able to fair for themselves, Captain?” Atlas inquired skeptically. “Guns do little against Agents.”

“That is why I sent Hector with them. He can still fight in close combat to a degree, as can Blaze.” Mors looked back as he ran. The Agent had run towards the other three.

Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass filled Mors’ ears, and an Agent landed on the concrete in front of him. He had landed in a crouching position, his gun just above his head. Rising and taking aim, he fired point blank at Mors.

“Captain!” Atlas dove forwards and tackled Mors, forcing him out of the way of the bullet. It grazed Mors’ shoulder. The two of them landed in a heap, but ascended to the standing position quickly as rounds from the Desert Eagle sent powdered concrete into their faces. The last round in the Agent’s clip blew out the tire of a car behind Atlas, on which Mors was now standing.

“Two against one...” he uttered, then leaped at the Agent, spinning his sword wildly. The Agent did not know where the blow would come, and seemed surprised as the katana dug into the shoulder and then spun him around with a slash across the chest, sheering off his tie. He turned back to his opponent, kicking Mors in the stomach and then in the face. The middle-aged man hit the bullet-riddled car.

Mors watched as Atlas took a turn beating the Agent, who had tossed away the tattered tie. Atlas landed multiple blows on the Agent’s jaw and chest, forcing him back against a wall. The Agent let the blows come, not flinching once as the brass knuckles pummeled him. Mors’ companion began to get confident, kicking the Agent in the gut and knocking him up against the wall. Unexpectedly, the Agent grabbed Atlas by the throat and hurled him over the parked cars and onto the street.

Mors flew in again and, after a quick succession of blows, managed to stab the Agent through the stomach. A quick flash and the Agent had switched hosts, leaving a bloodied house maid behind.

“Where’d you go...?” Mors mumbled as Atlas rejoined him, wincing as he moved his muscles, which had been bruised.

Nearing the corner of the block, the Agent reappeared again, walking out of a bakery and firing his Desert Eagle like he had done before. Mors and Atlas, now much farther away than they had been before, headed for the street, the eight rounds skipping off the ground, hitting a lamp post with a metallic bang, and shattering car windows. One nearly hit Atlas but was stopped by the right rear view mirror of a Scion vehicle.

Now they ran out into the traffic of White Rabbit Lane. Cars rushed by at forty-five miles per hour, and right away Mors had almost been run down by a red car. Following his Captain’s lead, Atlas scampered through traffic, leaping straight up into the air over a Mini-Cooper. A school bus roared by, Mors standing a mere inch away. This happened several times before they had nearly crossed the four-lane street.

Much to their chagrin, the Agent had once again switched hosts. He stood in front of them now, on what had been the safe side of the street. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Shots stopped the two from coming forwards. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Another Agent walked out of a barbershop, keeping them from strafing. They were now pinned in the fourth lane of White Rabbit Lane, with a concrete truck headed their way.

“Captain! What do we do?” Atlas shouted as the noise of gunfire and revving engines drowned out his previous attempts to get the Captain’s attention.

Mors said nothing. As the truck approached, he made an astounding leap, landing on the cab of the truck. Atlas followed, landing on the hood. The Agents continued firing until they could no longer see their targets.

“Quick, onto the cement turner!” Mors shouted as a buzzing noise came from inside the cab of the truck. Another jump took him atop the slowly turning cement mixer, and he turned and started jogging against the rotation. Atlas did likewise as bullets pierced the cab roof near him.

With his cell phone and katana in hand, Mors looked somewhat silly jogging on top of a concrete truck. He dialed the Jabberwocky with his thumb and held the cell phone to his ear. “Hack, what’s our situation?”

“Not good sir. The Agent killed Hector, Trojan has been severely wounded, and Blaze is struggling. SWAT are flowing to the area.”

“Shit...” Mors looked around, feeling the fact that Hector was dead hit him like an Agent‘s fist. “What’s their location?”

“North of you.”

Mors looked to his right. Flash-bang grenades were going off brightly, and tear gas was floating with the wind. He could not see any more of the battle from here, but he could now predict the cabal of the Agent in the cab of the cement mixing truck. “Thank you, Hack. Now, give me the situation of the Melchizedek.”

“Bishop, the First Mate, has entered the Matrix to help out. He drove a red Barracuda loaded with weapons into the area where Voodoo and Quicksilver were held down.”

“Did he have any assistance?”

“Yes, Glitch is with him. He’s quick and a good gunner.”

“Are they in the intersection of White Rabbit Lane and Than Road?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because I’m on a truck being driven there by an Agent...”

“Then find your men and get the hell out of...shit! Shit, no!”

“What Hack?” Mors pressed, now beginning to worry.

“The Agents are bringing in a helicopter!” Hack shouted over the cell phone.

But Mors had now dropped his cell phone. “No...”

BOOM! An explosive rocket blew the cement mixer apart, sending burning metal and globs of liquid cement everywhere. Mors flew into the air and landed on a parked car, crushing the roof beneath his weight and the weight of a few blobs of concrete. His First Mate hit the pavement and slid down towards the helicopter that had started buzzing its way towards them.

Mors recognized the vehicle at once. It was a Black Hawk, armed with multiple machine guns and rockets. The machine guns were now concentrated on Atlas, who was scuttling towards Mors with a look of pure fear. But it was no use. Atlas was shredded by the onslaught of the aircraft.

With a burst of anger and frustration, Mors hastily grabbed his katana and took off towards the chopper. He leaped into the air, over the heavy machine gun fire and another missile from the launcher, and grabbed onto the low-flying craft. He looked back to find that the Agent that had been driving the cement mixer had been killed when the truck had been hit with the first shell, then dropped off the vehicle, his katana tearing through the gas tank. Sprinting at full speed upon touching down, he took off towards the intersection. The helicopter began to drop rapidly behind him, and became a fireball in the middle of an intersection.

Faster...grr...faster! his mind screamed at his body. He would not lose Trojan and Blaze too, or fail his mission to rescue the Melchizedek crew members. Pushing himself harder, he found himself running down the center of a street that had been torn up and splintered with bullets. It was a massacre that he was running into, and he would emerge alive with the rest of his crew or not at all. He was sure of that.

Mors approached the rear of one of the SWAT blockades. Barricades of solid concrete had been set up, SWAT vans positioned to give the armed soldiers protection from whatever hell the crew of the Melchizedek was dishing out. The red Barracuda was driving in circles at crazy speeds, trying to find a way out of the intersection since the actual roadways were blockaded. Glitch, Quicksilver, and Bishop all sat in the back seat of the vehicle, firing assault rifles and pistols and shotguns they had brought into the Matrix. Blaze sat in shotgun, firing the SG-552 that Trojan had brought into the Matrix with him. Voodoo was driving. The SWAT were cautiously peeking out from behind their cover and taking shots, or tossing flash-bang grenades to mess with Voodoo’s vision to make her crash.

I’ll have to clear this blockade for them...Mors thought. Coming up from behind, a quick snap broke a soldier’s neck. He repeated this twice before the SWAT knew he was there, and then all hell broke loose in their ranks. Drawing his katana and grabbing an MP5K from the ground, he tore into them, slashing and shooting. His battle cries scared the SWAT senseless, and they tried to take cover from him rather than the Barracuda full of gunners. Glitch and Quicksilver took this opportunity to shoot at the frightened soldiers, who then remembered the other threat at hand.

One soldier had enough sense to try shooting at Mors. The shots missed Mors, but they hit his sword, blowing the blade to pieces and rendering it useless. Mors chucked it away and emptied what was left of the MP5K at them soldiers, then unleashed a triple jump kick on the soldier that had ruined his katana. The soldier hurtled back into another. The driver of one of the SWAT vans tried to get out with a shotgun, but Mors punched the door and slammed it in the driver’s face, rendering him unconscious. One soldier was disarmed and whacked with the butt of his own gun. Mors kicked another through the windshield of a police car. Mors planted a foot on the chest of the last soldier near him and then kicked him in the face.

Upon landing, Mors hopped into the driver’s seat of a SWAT van. He drove it through the barricades, shunting them aside. He then put the vehicle in reverse, moving any barricades and vehicles he had missed. This left a path for the Barracuda to drive through. Voodoo saw what he had done and waved to him, driving through the opening. Mors hopped onto the roof of the car.

“Blaze, where is Trojan?” Mors asked.

“The SWAT got him, Captain!” Blaze shouted, tears streaming down her face. “And the Agent got Hector!” Blaze broke down and started sobbing, dropping the SG-552 and remaining in a fetal position for the rest of the drive away from the intersection.

Blaze’s cell phone rang. “Captain, this is Hack. There are Sentinels in the direct vicinity of the Jabberwocky. They have not spotted us yet, but they could at any time. Do not call me unless it is a dire situation. Call Jack of the Melchizedek.” Click.

Voodoo continued driving, getting directions from Jack to the exit. They reached it without any problems. It was in the derelict motel that they had been in when they had first begun the mission.

“You first, Blaze,” Mors said to the miserable woman. She sobbed as she took the phone, but suddenly dropped. She stopped moving immediately and did not stir again.

Bishop checked her pulse. “She’s dead, sir.”

Her cell phone went off. Mors answered it.

“Yes?”

“Captain Mors! Get to the ship! The Sentinels have attacked!” A sound like whistling fireworks mixed with electronic buzzing sounded in the background. Metal clanked and shredded loudly.

Mors picked up the exit phone as soon as it started ringing, without saying anything to Bishop or the others. He woke up on the Jabberwocky, with Hack untying him from his Ecto chair. The chairs immediately next to him had been shredded.

“Captain! Help me with...agh!” A Sentinel’s claw tore through Hack’s back and out of his chest, ripping out his internal organs. Mors, on the verge of losing his lunch and mind, grabbed the calamari cooker from his dead Operator’s hands and fired it at the Sentinel. An arch of electricity erupted from the nozzle with a whistling noise, marring the shell of the Sentinel and eventually killing it. He raced for the Operator’s station, mechanical claws tearing at his flesh. Everything became a blur, but he was positive that he had pressed the button activating the EMP. Everything went blue as a shockwave passed through the ship, then everything went black.

Chapter 3: On Holiday

“Shehazarad, you are clear to land.”

“Thank you, Zion Control,” replied the man piloting the Shehazarad. Dallas, the Texan warrior, the Captain who never gave up, was in a bitter mood. It had been rumored that Morpheus had found The One, so now he was going to be getting more publicity, more offerings, more gifts. It was unusual for some two dozen people to be standing in the docking bay, and Dallas was sure that it was a safety hazard.

Dallas resumed his conversation with Mors, his First Mate and co-pilot. “As I was saying, Mors, it is all a damned publicity stunt! Neo can’t be the One! As if a single man can defeat the Machines anyway...”

Mors was a middle-aged black man, his head clean-shaven, his face scarred. His past had been one of regret and pain, as anyone on the crew of the Shehazarad knew. He had once been a Captain, like Dallas, but less psychopathic, according to Ares, one of the crewmembers. But one day, a mission was cocked up aboard the ship he had captained, and everyone died except he. He was allowed to be a crewmember of a ship of his choosing, though he could no longer Captain. Dallas was the only person who trusted him enough to let him lead missions at all.

“Do not doubt what you do not know, Captain,” Mors retorted. “Neo may be impressive yet.” Dallas only muttered incoherently. He finished putting down the Shez and then looked up through the cockpit window.

“Well, speak of the devil...”

The Nebuchadnezzar began the landing procedure, setting down next to the Shez, surrounded by the waiting crowd. Dallas finished powering down the ship, still muttering, as Ariadne, the Operator of the crew, entered. The three of them watched as Morpheus marched down the loading ramp, followed by Trinity, his slim and beautiful First Mate, Tank, their burly and noticeably wounded Operator, and the man that Morpheus believed to be the One. Neo did not look at all like a hero, but a pale hacker in greasy Zion uniform, which consisted of ripped blue sweaters and black sweatpants.

“He does not look very...heroic...” Mors said to appease Dallas, though he was not sure what to make of Neo personally. “He’s only been out of the pod little less than a year...”

Dallas was too busy watching Morpheus receive donations. "Look at him," Dallas rambled. His Texan drawl got very heavy when he was angry. "Just look at him! Morpheus carries a traitor, loses half his crew on one mission, and everyone treats him like a hero. Anyone else would be court-martialed for failure, but no, not Morpheus, he's a law unto himself...”

“If he’s found the One, maybe it was worth it,” Ariadne replied.

“Ah, Jesus, you believe that crap?”

"I don't know Dallas...they say he can do some impressive things."

"Don't you start. Morpheus is a loon, Ariadne, everyone knows that. Anyway, no matter how good this Neo guy is, he and Morpheus aren't the only heroes in Zion and people would do well to remember that!"

"People remember that," Ariadne assured.

"When they bring ME offerings, I'll believe you. Get the Shez recharged and ready to go, I want out of here if he is around..."

"I don't think so, Dallas," said Ariadne.

"Huh?"

"The starboard side hover-engines are getting worse. We have gone far too long without servicing them. We were picking up a lot of vibration at the end there. How stupid would we feel if they came loose with Squiddies in the vicinity."

"They'll hold," Dallas replied, with little confidence. Mors could tell he was trying to get out of here as fast as possible.

"Can you guarantee that? And you are going to want to be out for, what, months again? We should take the opportunity we have now."

"How long?"

"I'll need to dismantle the entire engine array. Days. Maybe a week or two." Dallas turned to face Ariadne, tearing his gaze away from Morpheus for the first time since the fellow Captain had left his ship.

"You have got to be shittin' me!"

"Better to get it done now and properly," the Operator told him. Dallas looked uncertain. She continued. "He won't stay. Morpheus is like you, he'll want out again as soon as possible." Dallas sat in thought for a moment.

"Do it," he told her. He got up and left the cockpit. Mors followed closely, then stopped by the exit hatch, knowing that Dallas was just going to tell the others that it was time to get off the ship.

Mors looked over the crew of the Shez. Most of them were battle-hardened, especially one of his close friends, Fire. Both of them favored using swords in the Matrix, and both of them were skilled leaders. If Mors was not around to lead, it would be Fire. But they were only two of the crew. Besides Captain Dallas and Ariadne, there were seven on the crew in all. Ares and Burn were both heavy gunners, who emptied clip upon clip at whoever decided to stand in the way. Castor and Rade were well balanced in combat, though Rade favored his sword over guns. Hephaestus held rank as the only martial arts specialist aboard the Shez. Castor and Hephaestus were the newer members of the crew and less experienced than the rest, but still very deadly.

"Shore leave," he announced, still fuming over Morpheus. "Make the most of it whilst you can."

“Thank you, Captain,” Fire said with a nod, walking to Ariadne to see what he could do to help with the faltering engines.

“Indeed, it is good to be home.” Mors waved to the Captain and stomped down the ramp of the ship. He did not carry his bag with him, once again knowing all too well that Dallas's intentions were to get away from Zion fast.

“I’m so tired...” Hephaestus yawned stretching his arms. They occasionally shortened his name to Heph.

“You said it. Let’s go to the bar and get somethin‘...” Ares agreed, pushing the younger man along.

Mors began his routine walk around the city, hunting down one of the newer warriors as the rest of his crew dispersed to do whatever they had in mind. He found Cloud quickly, trying to kick in his door. Cloud was from the Persepolis, which was sometimes deemed the sister ship of the Shehazarad.

“Damn door, why does it always stick!?” Cloud shouted as he kicked it again.

“Always a problem when you are in Zion, Cloud, is that not only do you have to pay for stuff you break, you also can't seem to punch through solid objects in the Real World...” Mors approached slowly with a grin.

“Oh, hello Mors,” Cloud responded, ending his boxing match with the door. “Yeah, it’s kind of stuck...”

“I can tell.” Mors had always favored the Cheshire grin that Morpheus had put into use. Morpheus had once been his friend and had saved him when his ship was destroyed. Then he moved on to find the One. Maybe now that he was content with the One he would redevelop old friendships...

The blonde youth wiped his brow and dropped his bag on the door step. “Well, since I can’t get into my apartment open, what do you say about going to hunt down Neo? I want to get a closer look...”

“If you insist. Lead the way.”

The two men walked side by side, other ship crews occasionally waving to them as they passed. Mors stopped briefly to buy an apple that had been grown in the small underground orchards, which used extremely powerful lamps to simulate sunlight. He bit into the juicy fruit, still walking. Well, that’s one flavor that the Machines got right...

Eventually the approached the massive throng that had been following Neo ever since he left the ship. Women approached him, telling him of family members lost during the war, asking him to avenge them. Others were trying to make him promise to pray for them or make their lives better. Neo continued vaguely promising to help in whatever way he could.

“Poor guy, he’s going to get mauled...” Cloud chuckled. He elbowed Mors in the ribs. “I suppose good ole Captain Mors should help him out...”

Mors rolled his eyes, smiling. Something similar had happened to him before, though it was less positive. It had been after his ship blew up. But he knew how Neo felt, and began shoving his way through the throng. He pushed himself between Neo and the crowd.

“Fair citizens of Zion! While he may be the One, he can still be weary!” Mors shouted, gathering their attention. “He will help you when he can, but now he would like to sleep.” He repeated his message a few times until the mob began to disband. He turned to Neo. “Welcome to Zion. I’m Mors of the Shehazarad. Sorry about the mob, but it is quite exciting to think that Morpheus has finally found The One. I’m not sure what to make of it myself, but I have not yet heard about your arrival in the Real World. Apparently you did something extraordinary...”

Trinity pushed herself between Neo and Mors. She nodded with a sign of regard for Mors, but stood as if still defending Neo from the throng. “He did his job like everyone else here, Mors. So let him enjoy his shore leave like everyone else.”

“My apologies, Trinity.” Mors made a small bow as Trinity pulled Neo away to show him his quarters.

“Lucky guy...” Cloud chimed in.

“Indeed...” Mors watched after the couple as they turned a corner.

“You seem to know Trinity. What’s the story behind that?” Cloud asked.

“I’ll tell you another time.” Mors sat and rested, finishing his apple. He rubbed his temples for a moment. Thanks to Cloud, the memories of his dead crew returned to him. If Neo had been discovered at the time of the crash, Mors might have been crying for help among the throng, hoping the supposed One could heal his pain. He got up again. “I am going to go talk to Captain Ballard.”

“Captain-to-Captain conversation, eh? Well, g’night then, Mors...” Cloud walked off to his apartment. Remembering it was jammed, he cursed as he walked away.

Mors approached Ballard’s apartment quickly, still contemplating the death of his crew. It had been severely violent the way that the Agents had pounded them into a pulp...

“Hey man, what’s up?” Ballard asked in his deep voice. He was taller and more muscular than Mors, with short hair and a trimmed beard.

“Not much, Ballard,” Mors replied, stopping in front of the apartment, hands behind his back. “Just recalling my days as a Captain and my lost crew. I trust yours is well. Free any minds lately?”

“Bro, you ain't never going to change,” Ballard replied, shaking his head. "You got to get over that shit! Same old daily haul for me. Good catch last time out though. We're ALL getting good catches."

“Yes, so I’ve heard. Captain Dallas has not freed any minds recently, though. He’s the kind of Captain that would rather be shooting something.” Mors sat down next to Ballard, the two of them leaning against the front door to the larger man’s apartment. “But I have too much difficulty forgetting my crew. It is my fault they died.”

"Hey, man, we all of us lost friends out there!" Ballard said. "They all knew the risks. If you told them they were going to die on the job, would they have decided never to fight? Hell no, they'd have done their job like the rest of us! Give the machines shit back for all the shit they did to us! You got yourself back, man, and that's more than most. We've lost whole ships and everyone on them before! That says a lot about you. And don't think anyone thinks it would have been better if you had died with your men or gone down with your ship- that bull ain't got nothing to do with real life! You're here, where we need you, and where your men would have wanted you!"

Mors sighed. He often forgot that other ships had gone down in similar scenarios. The Mariner was attacked out of nowhere, Captain Deuce and the rest of her crew killed except for a single man, who was trapped in the Matrix and eventually captured by Agents. The Bounty had an engine malfunction and went up in flames. The [/i]Nebuchadnezzar[/i] had just recently lost half of their crew. But Mors related most with the story of Captain Flint. The Pequod had been torn to pieces by the machines on a surface run, and Captain Flint was the lone survivor.

“Well, I have Morpheus to thank, regarding me being here rather than stranded in New York City.” Mors decided to lighten up, changing the subject. “So, do you think the Council will ever reinstate me? It seems Locke has become excited again...”

“I have no idea. But hey, you’ve got a good spot as Dallas's first. It’s a fine ship. As for the Council, word is that the Percy's blown open something big, big enough for it to come back in person to report it and ask for someone to follow it up. Locke's going manic. Best news we've had in ages, he says. If you don't count Neo, of course...”

“I am not sure what to think of Neo yet. What do you think the Percy has found?”

“It’ll be somethin’ to do with system security. Locke’s whole strategy recently has been to find out what the machines gonna do about us now that we’re hittin’ ‘em.”

“Indeed. I would not be idle if threatened.”

“That’s just the thing. They don’t seem to be doing anything...“ Ballard twiddled his thumbs for a moment, thoughtfully. “We reckon they are planning something big. Percy was working on that, though what they were actually doing only Locke and the Council knows."

“I wonder if the Commander would share something with me. Probably not. What have you heard of Neo?”

“Aww, hell, I don’t know shit about that, bud!” Ballard laughed. “Morpheus is going to do with that kid what he is going to do, I’m just going to enjoy the ride.”

“I guess that is what we should all do. It seems he did something extraordinary, but, as usual, Trinity kept silent and Morpheus is hard to find.”

“Well, we’ll see with Neo, sure as hell about that...” Ballard rose to his feet, opening the door to his apartment. “Well, I need to gather my stuff. The Caddy is scheduled to leave soon. Our holiday is over.”

“Our holiday has just begun. But I wish you luck.” Mors also rose. “Take care.”

wwhhooaa... really long rex!... but it looks really good!

Oh, it's incredibly huge, Joelsef. Incredibly huge.

Chapter 4: Training Day

Mors got little sleep the following night, images of his crew being slaughtered kept popping up in his dreams. But for the rest of the week, he slept more soundly. He awoke on Sunday, fully rested, and made his way to the mess hall that had been set aside for the crews of the hovercrafts.

The mess hall was very dim, as many rooms in Zion were. Row after row of lunch tables were lined up, most unoccupied. It had been built when hovercrafts were plentiful, at the beginning of the war with the machines. Now it was never full. All of the warriors of Zion put together would not fill even half.

“Mornin’ Mors!” Dallas said cheerfully, eating some goopy eggs off his breakfast plate. Ariadne sat next to him, eating with less enthusiasm and waving to Mors lazily. Captain Thaddeus of the Osiris sat behind them, consuming a few slices of bacon. Unsurprisingly, none of the crew from the Neb had bothered to come in.

“Good morning, Dallas...” Mors said back. The entire crew of the Shez was eating breakfast as well, but Mors noticed something. They were bored out of their minds, to the point of falling asleep during the morning, as Heph demonstrated like a professional, nodding off and slamming his head into his food. “It seems that a week of holiday has left them with nothing to do.”

“What gave you that idea?” Dallas asked, taking another bite of eggs. Ariadne nudged him and pointed to the crew. Ares slouched in a beat-up reclining chair, reading a war story from a book that Mors had given him from one of his surface trips. Heph continued to snore, runny eggs smeared all over his face. The rest had their heads in their hands, shoveling the runny eggs into their mouths mechanically.

“See what I mean?” Mors lifted Heph’s face from his meal, the snoring boy falling back into his eggs without taking any notice of the others.

“Good point...” Dallas pondered for a moment. “Well, maybe you guys need some practice sessions.”

Burn turned to look at Dallas. “I’ve been doing so many gun training demos that I could probably turn an Agent into a shotgun pancake without trying ...”

“Well, how about a game then?” Fire suggested, putting down his fork.

“We can see if the crew of the Persepolis wants to participate too,” Castor nodded, agreeing. “Capture the Flag, anyone?”

“Fine with me...” Ares rose from his chair and nudged Heph until he was awake.

The turn out for the simulation was less than expected after asking the crew of the Percy what they thought of a simulation. Only Cloud agreed to come with them. In the end, they came up with two teams of four, Fire leading one, Ares leading the other.

“Alright, here’s the situation, fellas!” Dallas announced to those who had decided to play. “You are going to be in a place surrounded by high walls about the size of a block. In the center of the place there will be a large, three room building, somewhat similar to a warehouse. The side rooms, room one and room three, will have three levels of barricades, lined with fifteen cops armed with Glocks, who have been programmed to treat you as terrorists. You will all start on opposite sides of the building and most likely will go through these two rooms to get to the center room.”

“Not going to be using real bullets, right?” Heph asked.

“They aren’t real anyway, if you think about it. But no, they won’t do any horrible bruising. Neither will swords, knives, staffs, nunchuks, or any other weapon. Only way to actually hurt someone is with your fists.” Dallas fixed the ten-gallon hat he wore on his head, then continued with the training preparation. “In room two is the flag, hanging from the ceiling on a pole two meters long, in Zion colors. It is a two-story room, with twenty armored SWAT spread out between two barricades and the upper floors. First team to get the flag and get it to their starting area wins. Or if you completely annihilate the other team.”

“Can we use the pole as a weapon?” Heph asked. He was the only one who was adequate with staffs, poles, or spears.

“No, Ariadne has coded it to be utterly useless. Any other questions? No? Good! Now get in the simulation!”

They all took their positions on the Ecto chairs, Ariadne and Finn, the Irish Operator of the Persepolis who had four decades of experience, strapping them in. Soon they were in the Construct, grabbing their weapons. Mors grabbed his katana and slid on his long leather trench coat, pushing his round sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose. Fire and Rade grabbed the katanas lying next to his. Rade then moved to the guns section, where Hephaestus was contemplating whether he should grab a gun or not. Rade snatched up an MP5 submachine gun and slid it over his back, while Heph hid two Berettas in his long, fiery red trench coat.

Fire lifted a cell phone to his ear. “We’re ready, Captain!” Soon, the block-sized arena was put together like the pieces of a puzzle around them. Fire turned to them. “Ready everyone? Rade, I’m going to have you wait outside with me, and then run in if the others need help or fight anyone tries to sneak around us.”

“Yes, Fire,” Rade said, nodding.

“Mors, Heph, you’re going in to handle the cops. We’ll enter soon after.”

“Understood,” Mors nodded, then charged towards the building, drawing his katana. Heph ran behind him, running with less speed. Heph skillfully knocked down the door and charged in before Mors, but then ran alongside as they charged at the barricade.

“On my mark...” Mors hollered to Heph. “One, two, three!” The two of them vaulted over the first barricade as the security guards took notice of them. They all began to fire, Mors and Heph dodging roughly twenty-two bullets each. Parts of the concrete barricade blew apart as Mors and Heph spun about, the bullets missing by centimeters. Mors moved a little too late as a guard next to him got lucky, sending two bullets through his left arm.

“Ah!” Mors shouted, though it was only a numbing pain. He continued to avoid the ammunition coming his way, chunks of the walls and ground and barricades flying apart. He dropped low, crouching, and rose with a war cry as his katana sliced through the cop next to him. The blade passed diagonally through his chest, blood gushing from the cut.

“Woohoo!” Heph shouted back, rounds whizzing past his head. The cop immediately next to him fired, but the shots passed under his outstretched arms. Heph arched backwards, the following shots flying over him, but he lost his balance and hit the ground. Rolling to the side, the cop kept firing at the ground next to him.

The newer recruits always have fun with this for some reason... Mors thought to himself as he gashed another cop and spinning to slit the throat of another swiftly. He looked over to Heph, who kicked a security guard in the stomach, winding him, then brought his knee up to his face and forcing his head down with his hand, breaking his nose. The last cop behind the first barricade flew down after Heph viciously backhanded him.

“Next barricade!” Mors hollered, vaulting over the next one mere seconds before Heph did. Mors swung his katana around, slashing a cop across the chest, but doing little harm. He soon fixed that, driving the katana into his gut and through his spine. Heph, just across the way, aimed an awkward but solid blow at another, winding him, but not putting him down. Like Mors had done, Heph finished with a powerful blow, physically knocking the guy into a wall, where he slumped down unconscious. Without turning his head, he planted a powerful kick to another’s gut, knocking him off his feet.

Fire and Rade charged in, the seasoned warrior unsheathing his sword, his cohort taking aim with his submachine gun. With a mighty leap, Fire jumped both barricades, swinging his sword and cleaving his target in two at the waist. Rade moved up the barricades slowly and cautiously, bullets pattering around him. He returned fire, his rounds tearing up a guard and nicking one on the last barricade.

“Last barricade, and then we head for the flag!” Mors relayed to Fire, who nodded and jumped to the next barricade alongside the others. A bullet grazed Fire’s side, doing little harm as the rest of the shots missed the fast-moving warriors completely. Rade continued firing at point blank, punching deep red holes in a guard, then slinging the MP5 over his back and drawing his katana. Heph charged down a guard as he reloaded, a powerful shove-throw knocking the guard against a wall, falling forward, face down.

“My turn...” Mors muttered. With a mighty leap and arms stretched out at the sides, he flew at a guard, planting his feet on the man’s chest and neatly placing him besides Heph’s fallen foe against the wall.

“Nice one, Mors,” Heph commented as a stray bullet zipped past. The younger warrior kicked a Glock off the ground and emptied some inaccurate shots at one of the guards, then quickly disarmed the last one, smashing him over the head with the butt of his own weapon.

“Well, that was done neatly,” Fire remarked, looking at the carnage they had caused to the cops. He noticed the bullet hole in Mors’ arm. “You are wounded, my friend. Are you doing okay?”

“Yes, it has not done anything terribly painful. We aren’t using the painful bullets this time around...” Mors replied, smiling. “Now let’s get that flag...”

“Or you can stay right there!” Ares shouted, emerging from the door they had all entered through. Having abandoned their posts, Fire and Rade took little notice of Ares’ potshots from an assault rifle. He was now across the room, aiming at them with a smug grin.

“Rade, you can handle him easily,” Fire told him, patting him on the back. “Do your job. The rest of us will go retrieve the flag.”

“Yes, sir,” Rade nodded, holding his katana aloft and jumping down behind the second barricade. The rest of them moved into the next room, where their prize awaited them.

Heph opened the door slowly and gasped. “Damn, this is a big room!” he said to the others. Indeed it was. The room had two floors, five SWAT on each end, above them and in front of them some ways. To their left and right were barricades, armored SWAT huddled behind, clutching M16 assault rifles.

“Freeze!” shouted one of the soldiers.

“Well, that’s a lot of SWAT,” Mors observed, holding his katana in front of him and staring at the soldier who hollered at them.

“Indeed. Try to do the most excellent dodging you have ever done in your life, and then do it again in a real situation...” Fire said, smiling. He boldly stepped forwards, fifteen of the SWAT opening fire, the remaining five unable to get a good shot in. The three men twisted and curved their bodies out of harm’s way, the bullets splintering the door behind them, which opened shortly after, Rade running through. He closed the door behind him, Ares’ burst fire punching through the weak parts of the door, a bullet skimming across Rade’s shoulder.

Fire leaped towards one of the barricades, bearing down on the soldiers with a furious war cry. Ten of the twenty SWAT, who could all see him, fired on him. Multiple bullets hit him, the veteran hitting the ground behind the barricade with an audible thud as he took multiple wounds. Back at the door, Heph just barely dodged a hail of bullets, keeping his head low, a few rounds cutting across his back.

“Heph, follow me! We’ve got to get that concentrated fire off of Fire!” Mors bounded towards the western barricade. Heph dashed after him, ducking under the increased amount of firepower coming his way. Mors slashed at a SWAT that was taking aim at Fire, his blow thudding against his armor and somewhat through, though nothing severely fatal. Shink! Once again, he spun and thrust his sword through the man’s chest. Next to him, Heph leaped into the air, planting two firm kicks on the face of a SWAT. The man was kicked to the wall, Heph flipping off of his body as bullets pattered around them. Mors pulled his sword out of the limp man, bullets passing just between them.

Fire cut down another man as the soldiers opened fire again. They emptied what was left of their clips at the three warriors behind the western barricade, while Rade spun around by the door, dodging what rounds he could. Bullets whistled past, flying from the barrels of assault rifles and drilling into concrete or the metal crates in the dead center of the room. Mors turned a moment too late, a bullet tearing across his knuckles and splattering blood on his sword and trench coat.

“Gah!” Mors cried out, getting down behind the barricade as the SWAT started reloading their automatic weapons. “Looks like everything is going as planned Fire! The other team has not even entered yet!”

“You jinxed us!” Fire chuckled, as Ares stomped on in through the south entrance, his assault rifle reloaded. Heph quickly took down the remaining soldier next to them before he could fire as Ares took notice of them.

“Team A, entering stage right!” Heph alerted. Mors swiveled his head for a moment, seeing Burn, Castor, and Cloud coming through the door. The wavy-haired Burn drew forth two MAC 10 machine pistols, aiming for the eastern barricade opposite of them. He sent a hail of lead at three of the SWAT, but their Kevlar vests saved them very narrowly. Castor also began to pull out his pistols, aiming for the same place but moving towards the western barricade, where Mors was currently sitting. The low caliber weapons did little to one of the soldiers, who merely ducked down as a bullet hit his armor.

“This could get ugly,” Mors noted as the northern balcony SWAT opened fire on Ares. Moving calmly and strafing the shots, Ares fired two short bursts at a soldier across the room, gunning him down with expertise. Cloud fired his MAC 10 at a target behind the eastern barricade, his shots missing miserably. Not his strong point... Mors thought to himself, seconds before another bullet passed through his arm.

“You are taking some savage hits there, Mors.” Heph had a worried look on his face. He still often forgot that it was not real.

“It does not matter, Heph.” Mors looked to Fire. “What now?”

Fire thought for a moment, weighing out the situation. “Heph, go after Burn. Being a guns nut, he is very susceptible to close combat. You’ll pound him into the ground. Mors, come with me. We shall attack Cloud and Castor.”

“Good plan.” Without a moment to lose, the three of them leaped over the barricade and towards the three that had just entered. Cloud was dodging a lot of firepower, multiple shots skinning him. Soon Mors was upon him, his katana flying in as a blur. Cloud, not expecting the flurry, fell back almost at once. The swords clashed together multiple times. Mors nearly lost grip of his katana as it vibrated violently from the hard hits Cloud was trying to strike with.

Around them, confusion was erupting. Fire was having trouble getting at Castor, who had retreated under the rapid fire coming from the SWAT. Those shots were now directed at Fire as Castor leaped up to the second floor, the veteran spinning around on the floor as the concrete exploded.

Heph had succeeded in reaching Burn, who now tried desperately to gun down the martial arts maniac. Strafing the shots, Heph flew in with a solid jump kick to Burn’s chest. The gunner flew back against the wall, then tried to get up as Heph punched him multiple times.

Ares was a gunner gone mad. His assault rifle was hitting the SWAT rapidly, forcing them to take cover, only to be cut down by Rade, who had leaped up to the second floor to chase down Castor. The silver blade cut through a soldier’s armor with the familiar hack-and-pull method used with the katana, and Rade bounded towards Castor. Castor looked around at the SWAT taking aim and Rade running up with his sword held high.

Castor made his decision quickly, and Mors would later congratulate him for such an astounding act. The SWAT fired, but only hit each other and nearly hit Rade as Castor leaped from the balcony, over everyone in the room. Everything seemed to freeze, all fights stopping as the amazed warriors gazed up at Castor. The kid soared across the room and stretched out his hand...

“He has the flag, he has the flag!” Ares shouted. “Retreat to the start point!” He was the first to the door leading to Team B’s starting point. Castor fell in a heap on the ground very close to where Heph was beating Burn into a pulp. Gripping the flag tightly, he broke into a full sprint towards Ares. Everyone else converged to the area, both teams scuffling clumsily. But Cloud and Mors were still fighting.

“I’m not done...with you,” Mors gasped through heavy breathes. Cloud was much younger and faster than he, though Mors had more experience. He charged at Cloud, dropping low with a sweeping kick. Cloud hopped over the kick, dropping down and driving his blade through Mors’ leg. Multiple kicks to Mors’ chests signaled the end of Mors’ actions in the training program. There was a strange pain in the back of his head. Suddenly the warehouse faded away, as did the shouting and gunshots, and he was back in the Ecto chair with Dallas looking over him.

“Don’t worry, Fire got Cloud right after Cloud got you,” Dallas said. Sure enough, Cloud rose from his own Ecto chair and stretched.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Cloud laughed, helping Mors up.

“You wouldn’t have won, but I was already injured.”

“Sure, Mors, sure...” They both had a laugh about it and then turned to the monitors. Since they had not really been in the Matrix, their eyes had not been met with green code, rather views from security cameras that Ariadne had coded into the warehouse. They watched Castor break down the door as Heph beat Burn unconscious, but his run through the room was slower than it would have been, since he had been shot and punched so many times just trying to get through the door. Rade slashed at Ares, who ducked under the blade fired at Fire. Then Rade swiftly slung his MP5 off his back, taking quick aim at Castor.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Castor fell like a dropping pencil, skidding across the floor and leaving a trail of blood. Ares, being the last on his team, dropped his gun in surrender as Heph pulled out his pistol and put them to the gunner’s chest, Rade swiveling on the spot and also holding Ares at gunpoint.

“Might as well end the program, Ariadne. It is obvious who has won this,” Fire said to the thin air, but Ariadne heard him via headset and jacked them all out.

“Good work, my friends,” Fire said to each of them, shaking their hands and patting them on the back. Heph had no bruising of any kind, since Burn had failed to send in any blows of his own and he had blocked everyone else. Fire had a tiny amount of bruising from the skirmish in the doorway. Rade was in the same condition. Of Team A, Mors was the most battered. Cloud had kicked him quite a lot.

Team B was less healthy looking. Ares had a fat bruise above his left eye from Rade hitting him with the butt of the MP5. Castor had bruised his knees and elbows in his tremendous leap for the flag. Burn had been heavily pummeled by Heph, and was bruised just about everywhere. Cloud had been knocked in the jaw by Mors’ katana hilt, but otherwise he was fine. Castor and Ares were sulking about losing the flag, though Ares would be angry far longer than his younger companion. He never liked losing anything, whether is was the keys to his apartment or a one-on-one combat situation.

Mors had tired himself out after the simulation. To his amazement, the whole thing had taken nearly two hours. Taking his leave of everyone, he went back to his apartment and napped for as long as he could.

Chapter 5: The One

The dojo was very serene and sunlight filtered through the covered windows. It had no doors, for it needed none. Scrolls of paper were hanging from the walls, with Chinese letters and words written in jet black ink. They were saying from old wise men such as Confucius, Mencius, or Lao-tzu. The walls and floor were padded with reeds. Pillars of dark, smooth wood, carved with images of dragons and samurais, lined the sides of the rooms.

Sitting with his legs crossed on a mat at one end of the rectangular room was Mors, wearing a black gi. The cuffs of his jacket and pants were fringed with red, swirling designs. As a tradition, he wore a black belt around his waist. He was, after all, a master of a few methods of martial arts, though he had nothing on Hephaestus. Swords were his preferable method of combat anyway.

He sat meditating quietly, trying to clear his mind of emotions, when the tranquility of the dojo was interrupted with a computerized buzzing, followed by foot steps. Mors looked up, his brown eyes not hidden by rimless shades. His eyes connected with another pair of brown eyes, which belonged to a pale man in a white karate gi, a black belt around his own waist. Mors recognized the tousled brown hair and clean-shaven face.

“Hello Neo,” Mors welcomed. He tossed a mat to him and beckoned for him to sit.

“Hi,” Neo replied, taking the invitation and putting the mat down across from Mors. “I’m sorry, I mistook you for Morpheus.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Mors said, giving a slight smile. “People have also said we look like brothers.”

“Are you?”

“No, though we apparently have the same qualities.”

Neo looked around nervously. Mors was nearly a foot-and-a-half taller than him and much more muscular. Was it possible that a man who was worshipped was intimidated by a failed Captain? Finally, Neo spoke up again. “What is your name?”

“I am Mors.” He extended a hand.

“Neo.” Neo shook it. “I remember you from my first journey through Zion. You tried to defend me from the crowd.”

“Well, a prospect that the One has finally been found is very exciting, as I have said before,” Mors said. “So, tell me Neo, about your amazing abilities. The One must have something about him that makes him different from all others...”

So Neo began to tell him of his first year outside of the Matrix. He had been watched and then contacted vaguely at first, but then Morpheus had tried to extract him from his work place. Agents had caught him nonetheless, and bugged him. Then Neo had been debugged and popped out of his pod. Training in the Construct came soon, and Neo related to him that Tank, their Operator, had marveled at how much they had crammed into his brain within ten hours. None of this came as a surprise to Mors. It was the typical thing. He had failed the first jump, as most people did. He himself had jumped just a few feet short and hit a brick wall, then hurtled downwards hundreds of feet.

Neo then moved on to his first journey into the Matrix. His first mission was to talk to the Oracle.

“What did the Oracle tell you, Neo?” Mors asked curiously.

“She told me that I was not the One.”

“What?” Mors could not believe what he had just heard.

“She also told me that I would have to make a choice between the lives of Morpheus and myself.”

“I’m sorry, what? You mean to tell me that you are not the One?”

“I am, but I just did not believe I was. When the Oracle told me I was not, it led to me trying to make an attempt to rescue Morpheus. Morpheus later told me that it was exactly what I needed hear...”

Upon trying to escape from the Matrix, Morpheus had been captured, since Cypher, one of the crew members, had betrayed the crew. He killed Switch, Apoc, and Dozer, but was killed by Tank before he could finish off the rest of the crew.

“That is a lot going on for a first mission,” Mors told him. “Even my first mission wasn’t that strenuous.” Neo agreed, and began speaking of his second mission. He and Trinity had covered themselves with large amounts of guns. They fought their way through the lobby of the government controlled building, blowing up the elevator as a distraction, and then proceeded to the roof.

“Trinity later told me that I moved like they do,” Neo said.

“They?” Mors inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Agents. An Agent was firing at me and I dodged nearly every bullet. Two skimmed my arm and leg.”

“Then what happened?”

“The Agent was upon me, but Trinity shot him at point-blank.”

“She tends to do that.” Mors remembered her doing the same once before, though it was not a pleasant memory.

“Then we piloted a helicopter from the roof and used the minigun to get the Agents away from Morpheus. Agent Smith shot through the fuel tank, but we escaped.”

Agent Smith...

Mors remembered Smith. He always called people by their last names, glaring at them with icy blue eyes from behind a pair of square sunglasses. It was very annoying, but to tell Smith to shut his face would lead to having your own face smashed in. Better to run. He was also the most emotional Agent he had ever seen.

Neo then told him of his hand-to-hand combat fight, alone, against Agent Smith. Neo had nearly been beaten to death by the untiring machine, but sheer luck allowed him to get away. The chase that followed was quick, and Neo had blundered into a marketplace. Three Agents were upon him, and he had no weapons. Neo was nearly home free when he reached room 303 of the hotel his exit point was in, but Agent Smith was waiting behind the door. The Agent shot Neo to death.

“He...shot you to death?” Mors inquired once again, raising his eyebrow even higher.

“Yes...but...then I was awake again. I rose, alive, with eight bullet wounds in my chest. But something was different...”

The Agents turned to him and fired, but Neo stopped the bullets in mid-air. Agent Smith tried to land a couple dozen punches, but Neo blocked them all...with one arm! Neo then jumped inside of Smith and effectively deleted him. Mors was in shock.

“You destroyed an Agent? Permanently?” Mors asked with great surprise.

“I know it seems a little hard to believe, but that is what happened.” Neo obviously did not expect anyone who had not seen it to believe it.

“I do not know what to make of that, Neo. If that is what happened, then you must truly be the One.” Mors sat in thought for a moment, then stood. “Maybe, Neo, you had best show me just how good a fighter you are, if you are indeed capable of stopping bullets with a thought and blocking punches with an instinct.”

Neo understood Mors’ intent, and the two circled each other, their eyes locked, their motions cautious and calm. Neo swung his arms around then extended a single arm, motioning for Mors to come at him. Mors smiled, remembering this to be something Morpheus often did. His attack on Neo followed. He swung a few timid blows, Neo merely bending out of the way. He piled on some harder blows for the area of Neo’s heart and lungs. None of them landed. The single arm that Neo had used to lure him now swatted aside his punches as if they were nothing. Neo hopped over some sweeping kicks, then aimed a series of kicks for Mors’ face, leaping and lashing. The older man pushed the kicks down with both hands. The hand-to-hand combat that ensued was fast paced, yet neither combatant got a solid blow in.

“Are you going easy on me because you don’t want to hurt me, Neo? Or is this the best you can muster against an old man like me?” Mors dropped low with a sweeping kick under Neo’s usual triple kick, which Neo hopped over as he performed his kick. Neo immediately picked up the pace. The fast punches began to pick up speed, Mors struggling to counter a few of them. Mors himself tried to land more kicks than he had before, but Neo caught one of them and threw him to the ground. Mors tried to rise, but Neo’s hands blurred. Widening his eyes, he saw that Neo’s left arm blurred out in multiple directions, reminding him of an Agent who was dodging multiple shots from an assault rifle, but was too amazed to block the oncoming punch. Neo’s palm pressed solidly against Mors’ chest, pinning him.

“Enough.” Mors halted the match, getting to his feet. “Hmm...you have great skill. And you do indeed move faster than humanly possible. But I am not going to believe that you are the One simply because you beat me in a fight. Let us try to see some other feats you can perform. Here, let me get a gun...” Mors made his way over to the basket of weaponry over at the side of the dojo. “A Desert Eagle should do nicely.”

“No, I’ll get it...” Neo extended a hand an a Desert Eagle flew from the box. Neo grasped it and tossed it to Mors.

“Impressive,” Mors said, cocking the pistol. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! He emptied the Desert Eagle directly at Neo. Neo held up his hand, and the bullets stopped before him, ripples of air fluttering behind the shells. He plucked one from the air and dropped them, the rest of the bullets falling with them. Mors tried the same thing with an MP5 and a shotgun, but only to see the same effect.

“Most peculiar...” Mors thought aloud. Over the next half-hour, Neo showed him some other neat tricks. He dodged bullets similar to an Agent. A punch splintered a pillar of the carved wood, much as a punch from an Agent would have. But the most extraordinary thing was that Neo could defy what the Matrix said was gravity to the point of not feeling the effects of it. In a sense, he could fly.

“You must truly be the One, Neo,” Mors admitted, shaking his hand. “I hope we can do this again some time.”

“Me too. I should like to hear more about you. Good-bye.” Neo jacked out.

Mors sat alone, on his mat, meditating, the tranquility of the dojo returning.

Chapter 6: Duty Calls

"All Senior Bridge Staff, report to the briefing chambers,” blared the Zion PA system, waking Mors from his restful sleep in his quarters. “Repeat, all Senior Bridge Staff, report to the briefing chambers.” Mors groaned and got up from his bed. This meant him, seeing as he was Captain Dallas's first mate. It also meant Dallas himself. Every other captain currently in Zion would be present as well.

Pulling on his shirt, sweater, and pants, he bounded out of his apartment, slamming the door behind him, and racing into the briefing chambers. The room was large, like an auditorium, but was mainly empty except for the crews of a few ships. Dallas and Fire were already seated in the bleachers. Ballard and Malachi were seated as well. Captain Thaddeus of the Osiris entered next to Jue, his first mate. Mors sat down, knowing full well that he would not be the last.

His guess was correct. Just before Commander Locke started speaking, Morpheus entered, a little bit late as usual. He was accompanied by Trinity. More surprisingly, he was accompanied by Neo as well.

Mors looked to Dallas. His Captain’s glare shot at Morpheus like a knife. Mors knew exactly what was aggravating him, for his stare was shouting "Oh, so Neo is senior now, is he?" Mors had not told him about his meeting with Neo in the Construct dojo, and considered telling his Captain as Morpheus sat down, impassive.

"Listen up!" shouted Locke, beginning his address. The captains and veterans in attendance stood in unison out of respect, sitting down only when he began to speak.

"Penetration of Machine Security remains our number one priority at this time. All our strategic projections confirm the extreme likelihood of a large scale machine operation in the near future. Accurate information about machine movements may become vital if we are to keep with the upper hand in this war. We may be having a good time right now- but we have seen such things before. If the Machines are allowed to create an unopposed counter-plan it could finish things for us.

"One of our priorities has been to directly access machine communications. Various means have allowed us to intercept their messages. Unfortunately, this has been of very little use. One thing the machines are incredibly good at- despite the talents of many of us in that regard- is encryption and security. We are completely unable to penetrate their codes and ciphers.

"However, the System has one in-built weakness that cannot be eliminated. Ironically, this is the Matrix itself. In the Matrix, authority is the Machines. They are, eventually, behind every single Government and Law Enforcement agency. By its very nature, the Machines must make use of the contemporary tools available to them in their simulation of the late 20th century. They use contemporary personnel, equipment- and communications. Inside the Matrix, their codes are those used in that time. Back then, they were effectively unbreakable. Using modern techniques, we can break them. And so we have the tantalizing potential of breaking open the entire Machine security network inside the Matrix.

"In practice this has not proven possible. Aware of the weakness the Machines have perfectly predicted the amount of time it takes us to break a code. We can break them in about six months. The Machines change them every four. But now, we will reverse that situation without the Machines knowing it.

"The Persepolis has just completed its long assignment to observe Machine security activity. Their surveillance has given us a gold mine of information. Most importantly of all, its work has exposed the Machine's next code changeover.

"Shortly after midday tomorrow in the Matrix, on flight MTX497, a courier will arrive at the Airport. That courier bears a USB storage device. That device contains the new encryption codes for the local police network- and also the State and Federal authorities- and therefore, the Machines. We will steal that code.

"The vulnerable window is very small. It exists between the point where the courier leaves the plane, and the point where he leaves the airport lobby- where he will be met by considerable System Security (of a conventional sort). At some point in that five minute window, the USB storage device must be taken from the courier, the data on it copied, and the device returned to the courier, without him knowing it. If this is successful, all machine traffic in the Matrix will be known to us for the next four months. I do not need to spell out to you how useful that could be.

"This operation will not be easy. It will need to be very precise. If at any point it becomes clear that we are making an attempt to take the codes, the Machines will send everything they have at us. Not only will they then change the codes, they will realize we have also got their timetable, and change that- making the long work of the Persepolis and its crew a waste of time.

"This being the case, the Captain of the Persepolis has made the request for back-up- a request made in person, due to an obvious fear of a communication being intercepted and the whole plan ruined.

"The Council agrees with the importance of this mission. We therefore ask that one ship volunteer to be taken off its standard duties and..."

Dallas rose, bolt upright.

“Captain Dallas of the Shehazarad will answer your call," he says. Locke turned to look at him.

"Captain Dallas, I understood your ship would be undergoing vital repairs for the next few days at least."

"I can have a ship and crew ready to go inside four hours," said Dallas.

Locke thought it over. "Very well," he replied. "The mission is yours. Good luck."

"Thank you, sir," said Dallas with a grin, glancing for a few moments at Morpheus.

The meeting broke up quickly, and Dallas turned to Mors and Fire. "Get your things," he ordered, "And get the others."

“Captain, the ship needs repairs,” Mors argued. “Something could go wrong.”

“We’re doing the mission. Now find the others and meet at the ship.” Dallas walked away.

Fire and Mors watched him go for a moment, then Fire broke the silence. “Well, you heard him, let’s go rally the troops.” Fire followed after Dallas. With a sigh, Mors did likewise.

Chapter 7: Operation Codecracker

Mors sat in thought among the crew while the Shez soared through the tunnels of the Real World. Sitting off to the side, he continued watching Fire tell them how the mission should be run. Dallas came in after awhile, bickering with Ares and Fire about something. Mors did not want to help formulate a plan, seeing as his plans usually were not worthy of Dallas's, even if their Captain seemed like a nutter.

He ran over the parting words that Locke had left them with. "This is a smart person's mission. This isn't a case of killing things. If there is any shooting or disturbance at all, the Machines will work out what we are trying to do and the whole thing becomes a waste of time. Keep your nerve, and do it right. The payback on this simple mission will be enormous. The crew of the Shez and those sent from the Percy are expected to work together well on this one- but this is Captain Dallas's operation overall. How you choose to do this mission is entirely up to you. Just do it right."

He was thinking these over when the crew finally decided on a plan, Fire tapping Mors on the shoulder to get him to listen. Dallas spoke up to summarize and quiet down the crew. "Right," says Dallas. "Enough messing around, let's get down to business here.

"Hephaestus and Rade both have the pickpocket program. You two are going into the Terminal. One of you stays in the terminal and switches the courier's device with the blank device. One of you is on the train and will switch them back. I suggest Celsius of the Percy be the man with the computer as otherwise will be depriving two of our sword specialists of their swords. I know we don't technically need them but I am damned if I am going to lose half my crew if the shit hits the fan because we were careless in planning. Celsius has less need for a weapon. Also the Percy crew will want someone who can personally verify they got what they have been working for.

“Looking out or body-guarding for them- whatever suits them best- will be Cloud and Castor. You two had better keep your eyes open. Celsius will run that half of the operation.

“Ares will be our driver, San will drive for the Percy.

“In the lobby and car park area we will have Burn- who will want his guns after all- and Mors and Fire- who can use their swords. Mors, you'll be running that half of things along with myself- I'll stay outside as well.

“Any questions?"

There were none, and the rest of the crew milled about while Dallas and Ariadne set up the final procedures. Ariadne and Finn, Operator of the Persepolis, talked back and forth for a moment, then Ariadne announced that they had reached broadcast depth. Ariadne began to glide the ship into the landing position, Dallas leaving the crew area and proceeding towards the bridges crossing over to the cockpit.

“Ariadne! Patch everything over and prepare to broadcast!” he hollered.

Suddenly, the worst possible thing happened. As Mors stood to follow everyone to the Ecto chairs, the entire ship suddenly spun ninety degrees clockwise, leaving the crew standing on the left wall and the floor ten feet below them. Every loose object hurtled downwards, the crew included. The ship's engines rose to an incredibly high-pitched whine, and then an explosion shook the whole ship, putting out the lights. In the darkness, Mors scrambled for something to hold on to, catching what he judged to be a pipe. Ares fell past him with a shout and grabbed another. The glow of the Matrix code running down the Operator’s computer screens revealed Heph clutching onto the computers.

“Hold on! Hold on!” Ariadne hollered from the cockpit, the Shez slowly righting itself.

"What the hell just happened!?" Ares hollered back. "Ariadne was right, we should have replaced the engines, Captain Dallas!"

"Damn right I was right!" Ariadne yells back. "We just lost the whole starboard engine array!" The hovercraft eventually righted itself, leaving everything in disarray. The rest of the crew had done as Mors had done, clinging to pipes and bars. Cloud and Fire had climbed their way down to what had been the floor to prevent falling.

“Holy shit, I almost broke my ribs!” Burn shouted angrily. Castor dittoed what Ares had said earlier.

"Well, Captain, you're eagerness to show Morpheus up has cost you a bit...“ Ares piped up again. “Still, at least we aren't dead...at least there are no Sentinels around..."

Ares received no answer.

“Operator...can you hold for a moment?” Ariadne said into her headset, receiving a call from someone in the Matrix. She put the headset down. "Is everyone ok?" Ariadne called back to them. “We’re stable at the broadcast point and should be able to go ahead, though we aren't going anywhere for a while!"

“Captain?” Ares asked. Mors looked around and noticed that there was a ten-gallon hat missing from the crew line-up.

“Fire, where is Dallas?” Mors inquired of his fellow veteran. They looked at each other for a moment, then bolted for the last location of Dallas, which had been the bridge leading to the cockpit, where the Captain had been shouting orders to Ariadne.

“I’ll check underneath,” Fire said, and climbed down the ladder leading to the deck below. Mors spotted Dallas soon enough. Dallas was lying lumped on the deck below the balcony, a pool of blood beneath him. Fire reached him.

“Fire, what’s going on?” Ariadne shouted down.

“It’s Dallas! He’s taken a nasty fall and has a bloody head wound!” Fire checked the Captain’s pulse, confirming that he was still alive. “Get the others jacked in!”

“I can’t jack them in without orders from the Captain!” Ariadne raced down to Dallas from the upper deck. Dallas's hand shot out at lightning speed and gripped Fire’s shoulder.

“You!” Dallas howled. “And you!” He pointed to the empty space to Fire’s left, obviously seeing double. “Get me my damn hat!” Fire grabbed the ten-gallon hat from the floor a few feet over, handing it to the Captain. Dallas looked at it with a confused look. “Where’d you get the other one from?”

"Oh, not good...I'll get some bandages..." says Ariadne.

"Nonsense, I'm fine!" says Dallas, getting up and putting his hat on. He fell as soon as he had gained his feet.

“You are not okay, Captain,” Fire alerted him with the obvious.

"Don't be an idiot!" he shouted loudly. "Of course, I am fine, I am Dallas!"

Ariadne wandered over with bandages.

"And I'll be fine once I am inside the Matrix."

"Whoa no..." says Ariadne. "You are not going in there with a head wound!"

"Who the hell is Captain of this ship?" asked Dallas, getting up unsteadily.

"You are, and that's why you aren't going to be dumb enough to ruin the whole mission by copping out on us halfway through. You know damn well what head wounds can do to a broadcast signal! If your signal starts to cut out and you are more than thirty seconds way from a hard-line, you are dead! And a dead Dallas is still dead!"

"You worry too much..."

"We've got enough damn people for the job, Dallas! I thought you wanted to impress the Council..." Dallas started making frantic shushing motions. "...not get thrown in the stockade for contravening standing orders! A head wound means you cannot go in until a Medical Officer at Zion gives you the all clear!"

Dallas, furious, attempted to slam his fist into the wall, missing and spinning on the spot. Narrowly avoiding another fall, he tried to muster some dignity.

"Ok," he said. "I've decided to take a more backseat, supervisory approach to this mission..." he says. "I'll stay out. Fire! Either one of you can take over for me in the car park. You and Mors command out there, Celsius inside. Let's get this damn show on the road.

"Ariadne? Do we have any incredibly strong painkillers?" he added quietly.

Ariadne grabbed him some painkillers then obeyed Dallas's order to get the men jacked in. Mors returned her worried look as Dallas stumbled nearby, settling in his Ecto chair, then watched the Shez evaporate before his eyes into an endless white. The usual supplies were laid out on tables. Mors snatched up his rimless shades and clipped them to his nose. He slid on his black trench coat. Next to him, Fire slid on his long gray leather coat, then concealed his cell phone and silver-plated katana inside of it. Mors decided not to bring his katana, just in case it bulged out of his tighter fitting coat.

Burn grabbed a Desert Eagle and two knives, putting them in his pockets. He grabbed an MP3 player just in case boredom occurred, since he would be waiting in the lobby for awhile. Ares snatched up a Desert Eagle and an MP5, as well as the usual stuff a warrior of Zion would wear. Heph put on his fiery red clothing, concealing his face and hair with bandannas and his round shades. Castor grabbed the usual, as did Rade, though both went without weaponry.

Soon, the crew of the Shehazarad pulled into the airport parking lot in a gigantic black GMC Yukon XL. Heph, Rade, and Castor piled out of the Sports Utility Vehicle and made their way to the airport terminal where the courier was supposed to be arriving.

“Keep in touch with Ariadne and Finn, you guys,” Mors reminded them as they left. He looked to the men currently in his care, which included Fire, Burn, and Ares. San of the Percy sat in her getaway vehicle, uninterested in the others, just scanning the parking lot as Celsius and Cloud stepped out of the car. Mors gave Celsius a nod, which was returned as the first mate of the Percy walked away. “Spread out, away from the vehicle. Ares, you stay in the car, just in case.”

“Yessir,” Ares replied, putting his feet up on the dashboard and putting his MP5 on the floor of the Yukon.

“Burn and I are going to go check out the lobby...” Fire alerted Mors. “Want to come with?”

“Sure thing. Ares, I’m counting on you to keep this area secure.”

Mors, Fire, and Burn stood around, Fire with a grimace on his face, Burn flopped down in a lobby chair listening to his MP3 player. Mors leaned against a wall, scanning the crowd.

“Sure is crowded today, huh Fire?” Mors asked.

“Sure is. I wonder if Heph and Rade will be able to see the courier...”

“Fire, Mors, look over there!” Burn whispered to them. He quickly jabbed a thumb over to a table, where a man sat in plain clothes. Mors thought Burn was losing his nerve for a moment, but he noticed that the man had a wrist microphone and an earpiece. They were not keeping hidden either.

“Anti-terrorist officers. Probably just a precaution,” Mors told them.

“Those policemen a precaution too, Mors?” Fire and Mors looked out the lobby doors at quite a few police cars, parked closer than most cars are allowed. The policemen were gathering outside, but did not enter.

“Don’t worry, just keep calm.” Mors frowned as one of the anti-terrorist plain clothes officers stared at him for a moment, but then turned back to a conversation with a fellow officer.

After a few moments, Burn turned off his music. “Umm...” Mors followed his gaze, leading him to the escalator. Many people were coming down it, but one stuck out in particular. Oh, just one of the crew...Mors thought. But he took a second look. Wait...no he’s not... The man was wearing a black trench coat and shades like Mors was, but Mors did not recognize him. The man began looking around.

“Curious...” Mors muttered. He noticed now that the plain clothes officer had risen and was speaking into his wrist mike. He was not close enough to hear what was said or what the person on the other end of the line replied. Burn rose to intercept the man in the trench coat, but froze when he saw this.

Fire’s cell phone rang. He answered it. He nodded and placed it back in his coat. “I’m going to go help out Ares. Our escape vehicle is blocked by a Land Rover.” Fire took his leave quickly.

Mors and Burn edged a little closer to listen to the officer. So did the man in the trench coat.

“Tied up? What do you mean, ‘tied up’?” the officer asked, walking towards customs. “Where? How?”

Burn snapped out his cell phone, dialing the Shez. “Ariadne, I want to know the status of the switch, and who the hell that other man in the trench coat near the escalator is.”

The man started hurrying away as Ariadne told Burn that the device had been successfully switched by Rade and Heph. She inquired what he wanted to know about the man.

Mors continued listening to the officer. "Ok, I've had enough of this," said the plain clothes cop. "Move the units in and find out what the hell is going on."

Oh damn, not good...Mors thought as a lot of movement was stirring about him. Plain clothes officers and armed policemen started moving inside the lobby and into the rest of the airport.

"Ok, Burn, this doesn't look good," Ariadne told Burn via phone. "That guy is...wait a minute..."

“What is it?”

"Shit..." says Ariadne. "Oh shit! Get the hell out of there!" she screamed down the line, a little to audibly from the cell phone.

Mors looked around, furrowing his brow with slight panic as Burn looked to him. But then they noticed another car pulling up to the entrance of the lobby. It was a black Lexus with tinted windows. Three men emerged from the vehicle, about six feet high, each wearing identical black suits and square sunglasses, each possessing an earpiece. Their shoes were perfectly polished, their suits perfectly starched, their hair perfectly combed, and their faces emotionless. All as one, the men raised their hands to their audio feeds and fanned out into the crowd, one up the center, and the others to his sides.

Mors’ heart nearly stopped. Agents. Three of them. Now he did have a reason to panic.

“Washroom!" yelled Ariadne to Burn. "Keep your head down! I'll tell the others." There was a click and she was gone.

“Washroom, quickly,” Burn muttered hurriedly to Mors, noticeably paler than usual. Crouching a bit, Burn and Mors made their way to the restroom, taking separate stalls. Burn popped his head out for a brief second to try and spot a window, but there were none.

“Damn it, I thought this was a little too good to be true,” Burn said in a hushed, panicking tone to Mors.

Before Mors could reply, he heard multiple ear-splitting blast. “Gunfire,” he told Burn, though he knew the man knew what a gun would sound like.

“Sounds like an MP5K to me, Mors. I doubt policemen have those...”

“Quick, to Ares and Fire. We’ll drive out of here.”

Burn and Mors, still keeping low, emerged into the lobby. A policeman charged forwards, firing a few shots from a Beretta, but was suddenly blown away by a succession of bullets. Eight others sent off quick shots at the man in the trench coat and shades that they had seen earlier. The mysterious man cart-wheeled behind the car that the Agents had driven up in, just outside the lobby, firing an HKMP5K at the policemen rapidly and accurately.

“Take a different route or we’ll become the targets!” Mors told Burn, looking for an indirect route to the car park. “It’s obvious that whatever happened, it was that man’s doing.”

But Burn was not listening to Mors. He quickly slid out his Desert Eagle and fired six shots from the small clip. The large rounds spattered through two coppertops, dropping them.

Mors glanced back to the mysterious man in the trench coat. The guy finished his cartwheel, tossing his empty gun into the air, and rolled under the next car as bullets pattered against his cover. Leaping from the ground and heaving another MP5K from his trench coat, he let off bursts of three at three of the cops, two of them blown through. Another four bursts put down two policemen. The man rolled under a car and dropped the next empty submachine gun.

Mors saw something more pressing out of the corner of his eye. Three bullets whizzed past Burn and exploded on the wall at the entrance to the lobby as Burn tried to follow the mysterious man. Burn, with a look of very slight surprise and anger, spun on the spot and fired the remaining bullets in his pistol. He dropped the gun in horror as the Agent blurred on the spot and the three bullets missed completely.

“Run! That’s an order!” Mors shouted, turning tail along with Burn. Dashing through the lobby entrance and into the parking lot. They sprinted behind the black Lexus with tinted windows that the man had rolled under, but the Agent merely ran bodily over it, crushing the top of it. Three bullets emerged from the barrel of the Agent’s pistol, Burn throwing himself into a roll. The bullets blew chunks out of the ground.

“Do you have any more guns?” Mors asked.

“No!” Burn replied, his face white. “I’m no good without my guns!” He ducked down and another three bullets shattered the windows of a Mercedes-Benz. Looking back, Mors saw the Agent toss down the unfilled pistol and leap from the bonnet of a car and land in front of Burn and him. The Agent rose to full height, wagging a finger in front of his face in stern reproof and shaking his head. Suddenly, a fist was thrown out at Burn. Seconds before it connected with Burn’s face, three bullets zipped by the Agent. The Agent twisted around twice, smiling as he did so. Mors saw Ares curse loudly from the getaway vehicle as Fire pounded the pedal to the metal to go save the others on the train.

Burn turned to run, flipping desperately out of the way of the Agent’s simple jab. The jab missed, but then the Agent pulled back its arm, channeling all of the strength in its body to the single punch, and letting it fly straight into Burn’s back. The gunner flew across the row of cars and collided with a Volkswagen bus, badly denting it and cracking the windshield.

Oh damn...Mors thought, racing towards Burn. But the Agent was between his crewmate and him. That, and he had fallen behind in running from the unstoppable program, the Agent having leaped over him. The Agent moved forwards quickly, aiming to finish off the gunner as he staggered to his feet blearily.

“Contemptible...” the Agent said, drawing back his fist to finish him.

“No!” Mors shouted, hopping over the hood of a car with alarm.

Thankfully, a considerably large hail of bullets hammered the Agent’s location, Burn crawling backwards as the Agent blurred considerably, swaying from side to side. With a growl of anger, the Agent turned to see his attacker. Mors followed his gaze to a blonde women with under-rimmed shades and an all red leather outfit, toting an MP5.

Mors noticed San emerging from her getaway car, taking two Glock 18s from the glove box. “I’m not going to stand by and watch while Agents beat the living daylights out of you,” she said sternly, cocking her firearms.

A little ways off, the sound of assault rifles firing and jeep engines roaring could be hard. Shouts went up from the warriors of Zion. No doubt they had escaped the train and were running from armed soldiers. Celsius, the first mate of the Persepolis, would be with them, so he did not worry too much about that situation.

The Agent had taking badly to being fired at by the blonde woman. The woman turned and ran, leaping over the row of cars next to her and heading towards the perimeter fence, where Fire and Ares had plowed through with the Yukon minutes earlier. The Agent, being directly behind her, reached out and grabbed her foot. A simply swing of his arm back over his head, he released the girl, sending her flying backwards until she smashed down hard on a car.

Who is that girl? Who is the guy? Mors asks himself as San unloaded bursts from each of her Glock 18s. The fully automatic weapons hit dead on, the Agent blurring from side to side. The bullets splintered a car behind him.

“Run at your first chance,” Mors told San and Burn. San nodded, hoisting Burn by the arm towards where she had left her vehicle. As they moved, San pulled out her cell phone and dialed the Percy.

“Finn, I need a download to hotwire a car, just in case,” she requested. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, and she continued running towards her car.

Mors stepped forwards towards the Agent, obscuring the program’s view of San and Burn. The Agent approached him smugly, smiling.

“I’ve fought your kind before,“ Mors told the Agent. “I’ve escaped before too. I’ll escape again.“ With two steps towards Mors and the adoption of a boxing pose, the Agent caught him off-guard with a might kick. Ducking away, the kick sailed over his head. Rising, Mors unleashed a mighty punch at the Agent’s chest. The Agent fell back against the blow. Mors related punching the Agent dead on where the heart would be to punching a wall made of solid concrete.

I wish I’d brought my katana. It would be a lot easier to fight this Agent...Mors considered, making multiple punches at the Agent’s face. The Agent let the blows hit, but they seemed to do very little to phase him at all. The Agent nearly hit him several times, but each time he dodged. Taking his chances, Mors leaped into the air to perform the infamous scorpion kick, but, to his surprise, the Agent lashed out with a blow of his own, the Agent’s fist connecting with his foot. Pain shot through Mors’ leg and he fell from the air, onto the ground, a backhand smashing across his face. Mors shrugged off the pain and attempted to kick the Agent in the family jewels. The Agent effortlessly kept his leg from reaching that height with his forearm.

Mors took a step back for a second, glaring back into those uncaring eyes with an obvious anger. “You all look the same to me. Everything is standardized.”

“Odd,” the Agent replied. “You all look the same to me. Especially when I stop your movement.”

“That is because you do not see as I do, Agent...uh...do you even have names?”

“I am Agent Daniels,” the Agent haughtily informed him. “And I can see in ways that you cannot even begin to comprehend. I’ll enjoy watching you die.”

"Of course I cannot comprehend them, Agent Daniels, I enjoy seeing in color one hundred percent of the time," Mors snapped.

“I hope you enjoy black...” As Agent Daniels drew back to make his blow, he paused momentarily to check his cufflinks. Then, once again, the Agent lashed out with a kick when it looked as if it was going to punch. Out of the corner of his eye, Mors spotted San pull up with the car, but too late. The kick planted solidly against his spine, since Mors turned to run for it. Still moving towards the car, Mors made a dash for it. The parting uppercut from the Agent hit him just before he reached the vehicle, breaking a part of his spine.

"I'm not going to see black today, Agent Daniels..." Mors muttered, sliding into the car as San provided some cover fire, the Agent blurring again. The Mustang Fastback pulled away.

The Agent did not chase after him, merely watching him go. He raised his hand to his audio feed and ran off in the direction of the blonde woman that had helped them earlier.

“Shit, Mors, you okay?” San asked from the back seat, reloading her Glock 18s.

“I’ll be okay...” He cringed. “Thanks for the covering fire, he would have had me.”

He took out his cell phone and dialed Ariadne. "Ariadne, pump as much morphine into me as you can without killing me. He broke my spine..." He winced again as he tried to get comfortable in the passenger seat. "And then I'd like you to tell me what the hell just happened back there! Why did the Agents pop up if we didn't do anything violent yet?”

"I know I sure as hell would like to know exactly what happened back there..." San muttered.

"We're still trying to work out what happened," said Ariadne. "It can't have been a set-up- none of you would have walked out of there. The Agents responded to something."

"Well, we did see this blonde girl in red leather and a man in a black trench coat. The girl aided Burn shortly after he was punched half way through a car, but she disappeared after that."

"Don't worry," said Ariadne. "I'm tracking her. Shit...looks like you have some units on your tail. I recommend you dump the vehicles soon and get to the exits on foot."

"Damn, more problems.” Mors and San both looked out the window while Burn continued driving. "How many?"

"At least a dozen units. I wouldn't stay and fight- you never know when one might become an Agent. Don't worry, I can guide you out of there..."

“Good.” Mors changed subject. “How is the Captain taking this?”

In the background, Mors could faintly hear Dallas screaming for them to get their asses back to the Shez, but Ariadne told him, “He’s considering the situation.”

The Mustang Fastback screamed out off the airfield and over a barrier into the city streets. The police vehicles continued to give chase, and Ariadne reported that more police cars were vectored on them. But Mors considered the pursuit less vigorous than he had imagined, considering the lack of Agents.

Ariadne stopped giving driving directions to Burn, indicating that they needed to dump their vehicles and finish their trek to the hard-line on foot. Burn turned the vehicle so that it blocked off an alleyway, and they poured into it, police cars stopping on the other side of their abandoned vehicle. The three of them sprinted away as four cops opened fire, one of them trying to crawl through the car and get into the alleyway to pursue them. San tossed Burn one of her Glock 18s, and they took turns in keeping the policemen at bay, forcing them to take cover behind the Fastback. A few rounds from their Berettas skittered harmlessly off the walls or collided with trash bins.

San kicked down a door leading into an empty apartment on the first floor of a building, and they found the phone ringing inside. “Mors, you first. You did a good job today, and you deserve some rest.”

“Thank you, San. You too.” Mors took the phone and was out.

Chapter 8: Aftermath & Mysteries

"What the hell was going on in there???" were Dallas's friendly opening words. He had an enormous bandage around his head that he was trying to cover with his hat.

Ariadne was more concerned, to Mors’ relief. “You okay?” she asked, leaning over him as he remained in his Ecto chair, relaxing.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve taken worse beatings. I’m just not as young as I used to be...” Mors finally got up and took his seat with the others. They were not talking mainly about their failed mission, but of the man in the black trench coat and the blonde girl in the red leather.

“So, Ariadne, how many were there?” Hephaestus asked their Operator.

"Well, Mors, Burn, and San saw one other, and there was a third in the van they escaped in," replied Ariadne. “They had a Browning Machine Gun that kept the Agent away while they tried to escape. I had to stop tracking them from there...”

“Some of you made some very stupid decisions,” Fire scolded. Like Dallas, he was angry because they had failed the mission. “I want to talk to the council when we get back."

"I'll talk to the damn Council," growled Dallas. "Damn it...that's my chance to pull one back on Morpheus ruined..."

"Did that blond girl and that man read as humans or as programs?” Fire asked, turning to Ariadne.

"They read as human to me," said Ariadne.

“Odd. Dallas, will we return to Zion like the Percy?"

"Where else are we going to go? No point sitting on our asses out here. Oh, someone is going to pay for this..."

Mors sat in thought for awhile. Ariadne wandered over, curious to his silence. “What’s on your mind?”

“I was just thinking...the blonde girl seemed familiar...” Mors told her, rubbing his chin.

“If you think she is another rebel,” Ariadne replied, “I can check through records right here if you want.”

“That would be a good idea. The matter is already confusing without knowing who she and her cohorts were.” Mors followed Ariadne to the computers that she often worked with, and they began searching right away.

After a few minutes of searching for code and visual records for the girl, Ariadne found a positive match. “Her name is Medea...” She pointed to the screen. A picture of the girl that Mors had seen was right in front of him. She was standing in the Construct, wearing the red leather jacket and trousers, and the under-rimmed shades. Now that she was standing still, Mors had a chance to admire her looks. But it also increased his feelings of recognition.

“What have you got?” Dallas asked, coming over to see what they were up to.

“She doesn’t seem to be on the active service roster...” Ariadne said to Mors, ignoring the Captain for a moment as she read the files.

“Who doesn’t?” Dallas asked, trying to get her attention by tapping her on the shoulder.

“This Medea woman; it’s the girl that Mors saw who saved Burn.”

Dallas snorted. “You got that wrong. Try again; that can’t be Medea.”

“Why’s that, Captain?” Mors asked, raising an eyebrow. “This is exactly who I saw.” Mors pointed to her picture.

"Medea as in one of Captain Jericho's crew," says Dallas. "From the Bounty? That's way wrong."

“Oh shit...” Ariadne groaned as she pulled up another page in Medea’s file.

"See what I mean?" said Dallas. "The Bounty was destroyed in action six months ago. Jericho and his crew are dead."

It did not register with Mors right away. “What?” he asked, confused. He looked at the file, only to find that it confirmed what Dallas had just said. Her current status was listed as missing in action.

"Well, she looks damn well for a dead girl!" says Ariadne. "The code matches, Dallas. That is her. And the guy was Loomis, that was another one of his crew, right?"

"It's some kind of trick," Dallas suggested. "You know what these machines are like!"

“Are you positive that it was destroyed, Captain?” Mors asked.

“Yeah. The Mjolnir checked it out. The Bounty was blown to pieces. Man was an idiot, anyway. Something freaky happened when they killed him I guess, odd things happen in the Matrix sometimes. Anyway, let's get this hunk back home."

"Our starboard engines are still out, Dallas,” Ariadne informed.

"Ah, gee, does Dallas have to think of everything? Simply turn 270 degrees the other way if we have to!"

Mors thought for a moment. “What was the Bounty’s last mission?”

“Doesn’t say,” Ariadne said.

“It was a testing run,” Dallas told them. “They weren’t on a mission. And get to that cockpit, girl!”

As Ariadne scampered to the cockpit, Mors turned to Dallas. “Right now, any answer we can come up with is full of holes. Now, if you‘ll excuse me, I‘m going to go to bed.”

He looked at the crew. Heph had suffered little, considering that he had taken control of an army jeep and been shot at by other jeeps filled with SWAT. Rade had been with Heph and Celsius. Burn had a massive bruise on his chest from where the Agent had punched him, and multiple bruises on his back where he had slammed into the car. Fire and Ares had taken no hits since they had been driving the escape car and did not come into contact with any deadly forces.

Mors was told later that no one from the Percy had any serious wounding. San had escaped unscathed. Cloud had taken a shot through the leg. Celsius had faired worst in the entire mission, having been hit multiple times in the chest and arms. He would live, but for now he would be in agony, just as Mors was, though considerably more pain was being suffered by his Percy counterpart. Gunshots were more painful than bruises in the Real World. While there was no serious loss of blood or penetration of the skin, the mind at least made it feel like someone had smacked the area of the bullet wound with a crowbar. Mors had once been told that a broken bone was the best injury you could take. The mind had a hard time making it real.

Now, as Mors wandered off to his quarters, the talking died down as the sore crew went about their business, having nothing to do on the deck. Burn made an outrageous request to Ariadne for a Desert Eagle with “No Refunds or Exchanges” etched into the side of the barrel for the next mission, each and every bullet inscribed with “With Courtesy from Burn.” Fire found it silly, but Mors laughed heartily. Ariadne shrugged and told him that she could.

As Mors lay in his bunk, he thought of Medea and Loomis. Had they really been killed? He did not know. He had seen both of them moving freely and firing weapons as normally as he himself did. What about the rest of the crew? Khali had been Jericho’s First Mate, and two other members of the crew, Tyr and Sinister, had also been aboard the Bounty when it had gone. Dead or alive, Medea had helped them, and he would remembered that next time he bumped into her.

Would he bump into her again? He was positive. The Zion Council would not want supposedly dead people running around in the Matrix unchecked. And who better to send to deal with such a matter than the crew that had seen them.

Chapter 9: On Holiday Reloaded

Upon arrival to Zion, Dallas and Marduk met to discuss the mystery of Medea and Loomis being present at the tarmac when they were supposedly dead. They agreed that they should consult the Council, and began to head there. Mors and Celsius had attempted to follow.

“No,” the two Captains said firmly.

“We shall handle this,” Marduk said. “You people rest.”

Mors and Celsius took badly to being left out of the meeting, but their spirits lifted when Fire offered both crews to drinks with Finn at one of the bars. When they arrived, Finn had already started on the drinks. Mors found it very noticeable when people spoke in hushed voices upon their entrance.

“Rumors of ‘a mission gone terribly wrong, a close escape for all involved, and a disastrous failure for Zion’ are already going around,” Fire informed them grimly, quoting a patron he had asked. “This isn’t what I had expected.”

“That was a pretty nasty one, that was, so it was,” Finn mumbled in his Irish brogue before taking another swig of his drink.

“So it was,” Rade agreed. “T’was a trap...but that girl in red. Dead or not, she couldn’t have been a machine. She helped Burn.”

"Not a trap as such," said Finn. "If it was, the Agents would have appeared on the train and wiped you out. They turned up with those SWAT teams because something alerted them. And you are right, Medea helped you...mind you, Loomis didn't lift a finger to help Burn and Burn had just helped him. Odd."

“Well, they couldn’t have known we were coming,” Rade said.

“They were there for a reason,” Mors added. “Maybe we messed up something for them without knowing.”

"Yes, odd that," says Finn. "But I am pretty sure they came for the same thing you did. They even had the same plan. You picked up the blank USB device they had already swapped. That‘s why Celsius saw nothing on the laptop when he attempted to download."

“So that would mean they have the information,” Rade realized. “But it is useless now anyways.”

"Completely," Finn decided. "The Machines will know exactly what we came for and there isn't a hope in hell they will adopt those codes. We lost our chance, but those people lost theirs too."

“Yeah, I guess we ruined it for them.” Rade took a sip of his drink. “The question is, what alerted the System?”

"I guess neither of your plans accounted for each other being there," Finn answered. "But they were all armed, so they must have broken in. The mistake could have been theirs."

Mors agreed that it was their mistake. “Still, I’d like to know what they were doing there if the Bounty was supposedly destroyed six months ago.”

"Well, that's the thing, so it is," Finn replied, scratching his head. "And no answer to that makes any sense."

"Is it possible that when their ship was destroyed, they were trapped in the matrix?" Burn suggested, getting in on the conversation.

"Speaking as an Operator," said Finn, in his best 'four decades of experience' voice, "the problem with that kind of scenario- something people have thought about a lot- is that even if it were theoretically possible for the mind to survive without the body, if you aren't being broadcast into the Matrix from a fixed point, you simply wouldn't be there!

“As it is, the mind cannot survive without the body so it is moot. If they were in the Matrix when the Bounty blew they would have died, either when the connection was cut or when their brains stopped existing. Anyway, they wouldn't have been in the Matrix- it was on a test flight, not a mission. As far as we can tell, they were in a chase, fired their EMP, and didn't make it out.

"So I think the least unlikely scenario is that Jericho is alive. No matter how ridiculous that is, I think any other explanation is more so."

"Well, that girl seemed to be good with guns. Did you know her, Finn?" Ares asked, taking a swig.

"Medea? No," replied Finn, "but I don't think she was a specialized gunner. Loomis, he definitely was, he was rather like you, Ares."

“I think we should set up a rendezvous with them, find out what is going on with them...” Celsius suggested. Mors agreed with the Russian. It seemed like a good idea. But Finn quickly put it down.

"Now, how are we supposed to do that?" Finn asked of Celsius. "We don't know where they are, how to contact them...we aren't even sure what they are and how dangerous they might be! No, all we can do is wait to see what the Council has to say..."

The next day, the crews of the Shez and the Percy were scheduled to meet in the hospital to have themselves inspected for serious injuries. Just before they went in, Mors listened in on a newer recruit from the Melchizedek having his injuries inspected.

“Our main concern is that your lungs have become somewhat damaged,” the doctor told the boy. “But it should heal. Don’t go running anywhere for awhile! You should be fine in the Matrix though.”

“Damaged? How?” The boy looked down at his own chest, as if expecting to see some terrible thing. “Are you sure I’ll be fine in the Matrix? I don’t want to suddenly have lung failure when in combat...”

“Well, your body did think you had been shot through the chest," the doctor explained. "A few of your alveoli went then. Soft tissue is one of the things more vulnerable to this kind of damage. But I don't think it should affect your RSI. Unless you panic about if, of course- but then that's always a reason to not go in!

"Oh, one thing. I don't want to sound blindingly obvious but try to avoid that kind of punishment again. If you get shot through the chest again and your Real World body gets damaged a second time you may need a longer break."

Soon it was time for the crew of the Shehazarad and the Persepolis to have their injuries inspected. Burn and Mors had nasty bruises, caused by the capillaries going haywire in the Real World when the Agent hit them in the Matrix. There was a notable discoloration on Burn’s shoulder. Mors was having backaches. The doctor explained that these were nothing serious and that they would be fine. Celsius was inspected thoroughly, the doctors worried that the soft flesh in the man’s vitals might have been ruined. Nonetheless, he was given the all clear.

"I suppose the best I can say is that if you are going to be badly injured, try and make it somewhere else..." said the doctor. "Not your head, though. Always bad news, that."

It was Dallas's inspection that anything was notable. The incident involved Dallas threatening to pick up a piece of medical equipment and bash it over a doctor’s head.

"Just sign the goddamn form!" the angry Texan yelled.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that!" said the terrified doctor.

"But I am fine! You brain dead or something, anyone can see that! I can only see one of you, my focus is fine..."

"But your neural kinetics are all over the place!" said the doctor, desperately. "If you get into a stressful situation in the Matrix you could suffer a seizure! I can't declare you fit for duty!"

"Damn it," swore Dallas, and he began to look for something to thump against the wall. The effort unsteadied his hat, and he quickly moved to keep it on his head.

"I had better get going, Dallas," Marduk said softly, standing behind Dallas.

"What's this 'I'? What happened to 'we'? This is my damn mission!"

"Yes, but several of my crew will still be on observation duty which I need to set up again."

"So? I'll just go out with you!"

"Your ship will need at least a day's repairs, Dallas," said Marduk. "And a day or two's rest will do you good if you want to be declared active again."

"Goddamn doctors..." Dallas mumbles. "Yeah, yeah, fine...just because they won't listen to my idea about how to fix the array..."

"I think Morpheus would have objected to you stealing the engines from his ship, Dallas."

"Pah...that loon would just say it couldn't have happened any other way..."

Mors got little rest for the next day of vacation. His back to was too sore for him to be comfortable. He did not see Neo or any of the other Captains that he would like to talk to. Mostly he drifted around Zion chatting with people from the Shez or the Percy, and it was always about Medea and Loomis. Eventually he decided to stay in his quarters for the rest of the evening.

The next day, Dallas alerted them that their break was over. "Ok, boys, back to the shooting grounds!" hollered Dallas as he picked his crew up from the bar. "Time to get this shit sorted, the more ass kicking involved the better. Mors, I've decided to let you lead the team in again, with Fire helping you lead them."

"What's the mission?" asked Ariadne.

"It's hunting season," said Dallas with a toothy grin. "I want my boys to bring Dallas back something big..."

Dallas began filling them in about their new mission, which Mors had been positive would come sooner than later. The fact that Jericho’s team had been at the tarmac without permission was not unusual, Mors was told. The fact that they were there at all was.

Chapter 10: The Oracle & The Tongs

Shortly before they left for their mission, they had a briefing with Commander Locke.

"This situation has created an inevitable amount of speculation and wild theory, you know my opinions on such things. I know the Matrix is an odd place but I will not accept extreme suggestions of answers unless they are backed by solid evidence.

"We have two main options. The first is that Jericho is not dead, and that by extension that the Bounty has not been destroyed. This certainly fits the facts we have before us. Unfortunately, this question raises more problems than it answers.

"Why would Jericho fake the death of his ship and crew? What could he- and they- possibly gain from it? How was he capable of doing so? The destruction of the Bounty was confirmed by the Mjolnir at the time. They found its wreckage and the shells of Sentinels killed with an EMP blast during a chase. Our analysts suggest that faking of such a situation is possible, but doing it without genuinely alerting the machines would render it ludicrous.

"The questions get still worse the more we look at this situation. Where are his crew getting food and water from? Where is his ship getting power from? All of our ships have to regularly return to Zion for recharge. It is one of our greatest liabilities that we have been unable to remove. We would be interested in knowing an alternative.

"Perhaps most galling of all: if this is the given situation, how could they stay alive without regular intelligence updates from Zion and other ships? How do they evade sentinels? Most critically of all: how can they have found a broadcast point that is not only safe from Sentinel activity, but that we in Zion do not know the existence of either?

"From what we know, these problems are insoluble. However, the alternative is, if anything, worse.

"The alternative is that the Bounty was indeed destroyed, yet Jericho and his team are still there. One such option involves these not being the people we once knew, but simulations of them in the Matrix using their RSIs. Intelligence can think of no possible benefit this would bring the Machines or why they would be doing what they seemed to be doing when observed; this included trying to steal information from the system and making aggressive action against an Agent.

"Another option involves Jericho's crew somehow being still alive in the Matrix after physical death. I would remind people that this is impossible for two reasons. First, without your brain you have no mind and cannot survive in or out the Matrix. Secondly, alive or not, without somewhere to broadcast into the Matrix from, you cannot exist within it. You cannot become 'trapped' in there, by any means.

"Other equally objectionable scenarios exist. It seems we have a choice between many impossibles. It is for exactly this reason that we are sending you on this mission. It is my recommendation that you assume Jericho and his ship are indeed still intact and find out why this is possible, rather than assuming the even more ludicrous other options. Some of you may not agree; as I say, I will want evidence before I believe different.

"Because of the extreme mystery surrounding this situation, and that we have no clues or starting points, I have agreed with the recommendation from Captains Dallas and Marduk about how to start.

"You shall consult the Oracle."

The Shez had been made anew with gleaming new engines and a few other replaced parts. Within, the crew was debating who of the two crews should see the Oracle. Celsius, San, and Cloud were already in the Matrix.

Ariadne received a call from Celsius in the Matrix. “It seems I have been followed,” he alerted them. “Keep an eye out for a man with long, dark hair covering his face...”

"Huh?" Ariadne said, squinting at the Matrix code. "Hold on..." She motioned for Dallas to come, who gingerly put the headset on over his head injury.

“What you talking 'bout, boy?" he asked. "Followed by what? And how? Inside or outside? Did you let whoever it is come in through the door after you? If yes, you must be brain dead, if no, how did it get there? Is it safe for us there or not? If you don't know, find out! You see anything, Ariadne?"

"Nothing.”

"Celsius, are you feeling ok?"

“Right as rain, Captain. But I could have sworn...” Mors had wandered over and was watching the code. His friend had moved into an apartment, flicked on the lights, and examined something on the floor. It appeared to be sludge. “Nothing.” He turned off his phone.

Moments later, the crew of the Shez had entered the Matrix, Mors dressed in his usual finest, katana sheathed at his side. The crew split, some moving into the Oracle’s apartment, the others camping out in the cafe across the street. Mors was accompanied by Rade and Hephaestus from his ship, along with Celsius and Cloud from the other. Fire, Ares, Burn, Castor, and San headed across the street.

“Celsius, Hephaestus, Rade, the Oracle shall see you now,” the Oracle’s aid notified them, Mors feeling crestfallen due to the fact that he had been wanting to see the Oracle. She had been around for a long time.

A few minutes later, Celsius and the other two left the Oracle’s presence. Celsius came face to face with Mors. “We must go to the Chinatown district, to the restaurant known as Lon Wa. A man named Ni Zhan, who runs the place, can help us find Jericho and his crew.”

01001101011011110111001001110011

The crews of the Shez and the Percy pulled up outside of Lon Wa. Ares, driving his blood red Hummer and toying with the fuzzy dice, parked the car of the Shez’s crew. “Well, this looks like a cheery restaurant...”

“It is the location that worries me,” Mors disrupted. “It is disreputable. It is the worst part of this area.”

“Well, good thing we came prepared,” Castor said, cocking his Berettas in a peculiar was and pocketing them. He hopped out of the car, and everyone else did likewise.

The crews of both ships moved in, realizing that they were the biggest fish here due to the fact that these were all coppertops. If anyone had a problem, it would be unlikely that they could not crush them easily, if there was reason to.

The inside of the Lon Wa was endless bustle. Waiters brought food back and forth around the ground floor, and the room was split by a large bar down the middle. The air of the place was gloomy, every corner of the place filled with the sounds of yelling and smoke thick in the air from cigars. Mors glanced over at an old Chinese man with chopsticks eating sushi before turning to the bar.

Celsius spoke with the barkeep. “We have business with Ni Zhan,” the Russian First Mate said quietly.

“Business?” asked the barkeep. “What do you mean, business?” Castor and Rade moved to watch the door, and Cloud marveled at the size of the place.

“Very important business,” Burn picked up. “Care to show us in?”

“Ni Zhan does not speak to people he is not expecting...”

“We need to talk about...Jericho.”

“What do you people know of Jericho?”

“Jericho was a friend of ours, and we wish to discuss his whereabouts,” Fire explained.

“Well now,” the barkeep replied. “I will have to see about that. Wait here one moment.” He left the bar briefly and went up a flight of stairs, disappearing from sight. He returned a few moments later with a toothy grin. "Very well," he told them. "If you wish to talk about Jericho, Ni Zhan will see you." He let that hang in the air a few moments, and Mors saw that he was prepared to say something else. "But...Ni Zhan does not trust those...who carry guns. Only those of you without firearms will be permitted upstairs."

“I think we will accept that,” Fire answered after a second, taking out his loaded MAC 10 Ingrams and handing it to Rade.

The man raised his hand. "No," he says. "It is not the carrying of guns he disapproves of. It is the mentality of a man that carries one. Such a man is not fit for his company. You may not come, whether you now put down your firearm or not."

Mors looked to the others. Almost every one of them was carrying guns. All except three.

“Hephaestus, Cloud, and myself shall enter alone,” he said to the others. “Wait here.” Mors turned back to the man. “You may check us if you like, but all you shall find is a lack of firearms.”

“Then please, come with me...” The man lead them upstairs, where a few other goons checked them for guns, and then through a series of rooms that was hard to remember the order of. They entered the kitchen, which smelled excellent, where chefs bustled around, chopping raw fish and making meals. Hephaestus, a boy of Asian heritage, snatched up a piece of sushi and dipped it in some soy sauce, popping the roll of sticky rice and raw fish into his mouth.

A well-dressed Chinese man of medium height met them, a number of goons around him. These seem a lot like the Tongs, Mors thought, viewing them with no expression. But the thought fled his mind as an enormous shadow fell upon them. A massive man in a chef’s outfit, wielding a large cleaver, turned to them aggressively, but the well-dressed man shouted to him. “Zuban! No!” The huge cook stood back, and returned to his cleaving.

“These are the ones?” asked the well-dressed man to the guide, who nodded. He turned and assessed Mors, Cloud, and Hephaestus with his eyes, then said simply “Follow.”