For Trace.
I would like to begin, by saying that I am about to write a story that I never thought I would write. I'm going to bring an end to my own character, NightTrace. I'm going to go over a small bit of history, and then I will continue with the story. NightTrace, has been a member of the Mega City Department of Energy, from the first day he jacked in to the Matrix, to the last day he jacked in. He left the employment of that group going on two hours before his last mission, and after that, this story takes over. I am not deleting the character, but I have no plans to ever reactivate the account. If I am to ever come back to the Mega City, it will be as someone else all together, and I'll probably avoid ever letting it be known who I am, basing my decision off of the actions that led to my removal of our community. Thanks for the 2 1/2+ years.
It was raining that night, the sky not so much black from the storm clouds, but a pure empty void.
The rain was comforting though, its icy chill bringing some peace to his own inner turmoil.
He had gone against everything he had said for more then a year...that the Cypherites were the embodiment of the poor decisions of the Machines. That they did not deserve help, and if anything, they deserved to die.
Yet that night, he had gone with them, and he had helped kill.
Members of Zion, veterans of the "Old War" all, had their signals locked down, and were killed.
Because of who they were, or to be more specific, because of who they used to be.
They were on outdated list, and so they were killed.
Not because their current positions in Zion made them valuable targets, but just because it was possible.
Senseless violence, and he had helped.
His hands gripped the stone railing harder...then his hand bunched into a fist and his punched the stone as hard as he could.
The dull pain reminded him that he was still alive.
He had left his ship today, the Transom...he had been its first mate.
They docked, and he just walked into the depot, and went to one of the barges and jacked in from an empty table.
He didn't leave a note, and he didn't say a word to the men and women he had worked with for two years.
He knew, that today was going to be the end..and maybe the start of something new.
He didn't know who he was anymore...faces started to flash through his mind...the faces of loves long gone...Alice...Sallo...but he didn't even know if that was true, who was he, to be so arrogant as to say he knew what love was.
The words of friends drifted past his ears, and he remembered days that made him proud...the KoN and the Department, working together to strengthen the Truce, to bring down the General..so many great moments...Symmetric, Musutangu, Fenshire, Venetrix, all of them had joined the ranks of the Mega City Department of Energy, and each of them did so because they believed in making things better.
Things never got better.
Things always stayed the same... or got worse.
Then the Truce broke...and everything died. Hope...working together...the future.
Each side blamed the other, and honestly it was everyones fault, because no one was in it alone.
But when was the last time you heard someone admit that?
He had tried, tried to bring reason, but Zion expected him to seig heil, and step in line to their tune.
They wanted someone to tell them that they were right, and that the Mechs were the ones who had done everything wrong.
The mechs just wanted to blame it on Zion.
Neither side right, neither side wrong.
Both so far gone, that they would never come back to the way things needed to be.
He turned, and picked up the long case he had left leaning against the door. He set it down on the floor and unzipped it, inside was a long rifle. Though it was a tad archaic compared to some of the weapons that people liked to wield anymore, he had a love for older rifles. This one was a mint condition Moison Nagant, the wood smooth as silk, the metal polished to a fault.
He knew that in this place, how old a gun was didn't matter, the code that formed the rifle, was the same throughout.
He knew that it was ones skill over the manipulation of the code that led to the quality of the weapon.
And he knew, that everything he did was being seen.
After all, he had used one of the "public tables" to jack in.
Every request he made, was watched, and every move he made was recorded.
He had betrayed his friends, and he had betrayed his own ideals.
Once he had broken, there was no more hope.
He was dead inside.
And that was why he was there.
There would be no peace across the City he had grown to love.
No peace between Zion and the Machines.
No peace between man and machine.
No peace.
But he would have his peace.
He wouldn't jack in every day, hoping to make a small difference, and feel ashamed when nothing was accomplished.
Never again.
Not anymore.
He raised the rifle to his shoulder, his eye peering down the small scope.
Through the crosshairs he could see his target.
And the target looked up at him, with a face that could have been made from steel.
Behind him, the hammer of a pistol cocked.
Less then a second later, it fired.
The round caught him right above the back of his neck.
He was dead before his body even fell forward, tumbling over the roofs edge.
The target lifted two fingers to the side of his head, and acknowledged the report. Then went about his business.
NightTrace had peace at last.
