Ressurection

"Sir." The young operator turned around in his chair, addressing the captain with a bit of urgency. The older man, long beard and pepper hair, know as the captain turned his attention to the operator and acknowledged him with a simple nod. "Our scanners have picked up a body beneath the ship." "Is it alive?" The captain asked curiously. "It doesn't appear so sir, our thermals are picking up no sign of body heat." "To hell with it then." The captain turned stubbornly, only to come face to face with his first mate, his most trustworthy, his lover. "Were going down there and burying the body." She said as she crossed her arms, her eyebrows folded into a stern look. "Like hell we are." replied the captain. His first mate then argued back, "What if that body down there was one of ours, would you care then? Either way that doesn't matter. That was someone, and that someone deserves a proper burial." The captain grunted and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, while his first mate stood there giving him the same glare. Eventually the captain turned his eyes away from the roof of the ship and to his lover, "Fine." He then raised his voice for the whole crew to listen, "Anyone who cares about this..." He looked to his lover, "Person, can go below deck and bury it themselves." Before he finished with his last word he was marching off, heading towards his steel cabin. A smile of triumph grew across the first mate's face. She then raised her voice for all to hear, "Anyone willing, follow me." She began for the elevator that would lead them down to the surface. The entire crew, made up of 5 men and one other female, followed closely behind.

As the elevator slammed into the hard warped surface they began to pile out, shovels in hand. The first mate walked slowly to the body, signaling to the others to stay back while she investigated. She knelt down beside it, pinching her nose from the awful scent that elevated from the corpse, then began running her eyes up and down the cadaver. "Dear God!" She let out. The other's around her looked on with curiosity. "What is it?" The other female blurted out. The first mate shook her head, "This poor, poor man. He's ripped to *poop*." She lifted an arm, which followed with several cracking sounds coming from the stiff joints. "His arms are broken..." Then she let the arm drop and reached down to squeeze the thigh, "...and so are his legs, but that's not the worst of it." The crowd leaned in, drawn by the grotesque description of the body. Finally one of the men, the one who had informed the captain of the body, questioned with intent, "Well, what is the worst?" The captain slowly stood, leaving her eyes on the cold body that lay before her. "He's missing his jaw, like the entire thing, gone." The other female of the group let out a sound only described as utterly grossed out, while the male at the end of the group hunched over and let out a belch followed by his lunch. One of the other men laughed at him, "Nice." He said in a humorous tone. The spewing one was able to blurt out the words "Shut up" between belches. The group began to laugh, but was quickly silence by the first mate. "That's enough. Let's give this man a peaceful place to rest." The crew nodded and lifted their picks and shovels, digging into the hard earth. The first mate stayed by the body, watching over it with caring eyes.

The crew laid exhausted, their shovels and picks lying about, used from a hard labor. The hole was now dug, rather deeper then to be expected for this quick burial. The first mate let the crew rest a bit, then roused them up while clapping her hands, "Alright you guys, let's put this poor fellow in there, say a few words, then be on our way." The group moaned a bit, but raised to their feet with a slight quickness. They all gathered around the body, bending down and lifting it slowly, their heads turned in avoidance to the repulsive stench. As they raised it the arms fell limp to it's sides, swaggering with rigor. The crew couldn't keep their eyes on the body as they carried it, all except for one, the other female, who let her eyes look down upon the face of the dead. She screamed and dropped her portion, throwing the whole ensemble off. "What is it?" one of the men asked. "The eyes... they're open.." She answered, her body shaking in panic. "Yeah, so.." the man replied, "They're sometimes like that." The woman shook her head to his response, "No... they weren't...I mean...They opened!" She shrieked. The group looked at her like she was mad. "What do you mean they opened?" Asked the first mate. "Well..." replied the girl, "I was watching his face...the eyes...at first they were closed... but then they opened!" One of the men crept over the body and glanced down, studying the face. "They're closed now, you're just seeing things." She shook her head, knowing that couldn't be true. With all her might, fighting the sheer panic surging through her body, she crept forward to examine the eyes that once scared her half to death. She peered down on the gruesome face, and noticed the eyes at had glanced up were now once again shut. She shook her head, "No...no...I saw them open!" She exclaimed.

She glanced back down, and as she did the eyelids of the body flung open, and in the same swiftness the arm of the body raised, it's hand clenching her throat. She tried to scream, but only a soft shriek emerged, and the group around her screamed for her as they jumped back from the surprise. Suddenly there was a loud snap, and the girls head fell sideways, her neck crunched together. Her body quickly became limp. One of them men quickly ran up and began kicking the body in all his might, but it left no effect. The body twisted, full of life despite it's appearance of death, and grabbed the man's leg, quickly snapping it in two. He fell to the ground beside the body, and the corpse rolled over on top of him, digging it's thumbs into his eyes till finally the over-grown finger nails reached his brain, leaving a nothing limp body. The remaining crowd stood back in awe, preparing themselves to fight as they gathered together. The corpse crawled off the lifeless body of the man and crawled forward, reaching for a left behind pick only a foot away. It grabbed hold, then, in an orchestra of cracks and snaps it raised to it's feet, turning to the remaining crew. The crew stood there, looking on in horror and anger, one holding a pick, two holding a shovel, readying themselves for what was to come next.

The largest of the crew, holding the pick, stepped forward two paces, coming in a close enough range to the corpse. He swung it with all his might, and the deceased man didn't move an inch to dodge the steel spike coming straight at him. It pierced his side, and had bumped him over a little as to where he had to readjust his position. The dead man looked down at the wound with a sinister grin, then glanced up at the man still holding the handle of the pick. He shot the man a menacing grin, then swung the metal spike of the pick directly into the top of his head. The man still stood, held up by the pick that the corpse still had a hold of. Then with a few jiggles of the handle, the man's head slowly slid off of the pick and fell to the floor, creating a bloody splash from the top of his skull. The corpse reached over, and ripped the other pick from his side with his free hand.

There he stood, what once was a worm ridden corpse now held two picks in his hands and gave the remaining crew what looked to be a evil smile with his remaining upper lip, beckoning for them to come to their death. All five of the remaining crew members just stood there, looking at the cadaver with tear-filled fearful eyes that expressed pain and anger. They stood there in silence, sizing each other up as the brown blood slowly dripped from the side of the corpse man's side. Without warning the silence was broken by the radio attached to the first mate's side. "Dabnabit, what the hell is taken you guys so long?" The captain's voice rang out and echoed through the empty tunnel. Slowly the woman reached down and spoke into the microphone, "He's alive." She said. "What do you mean he's alive?" The captains voice questioned through the intercom. She reached for her mic and spoke again. "He's alive, and he's killed a few of us. Call for help." "What!?" replied the captain. "I'm coming down there right now." He said. She quickly responded, "No, don't. Radio for help, we'll take care of him." She said sternly. There was silence again, and the cadaver was looking on, still holding his menacing grin, waiting for the team to move.

"On three..." The first mate whispered. "One...two...three!" The entire crew ran full force at the corpse, screaming with all their lungs might. The cadaver didn't move, he stood motionless till the first swing came at his head. With a startling swiftness he ducked down, dodging the blow, then twisted his body to avoid the oncoming shovel at his side. For what seemed forever the dead man twisted and spun, ducking and dodging nearly every blow sent in his direction. He didn't fight back at first, not even when the seldom blows that did make contact sent him in a rage. Finally he spun around, letting the head of the pick but the first mate in the jaw, sending her flying back several feet. The assault didn't weaken with his sudden will to fight back. Blows rained, and he even took a smack to the face by one of the shovels, but nothing could slow him down. He swung his body in a full circle, catching one in the side with the pick in his left hand. The man went down just as swiftly as the pick entered his body. Three were left, two on his side and one right in front. The one on the right was banging a shovel against his back, while the other two threw first left and right. He spun the picks around in full circle, planting the tips in the bottom of the two men's to his sides jaw line. The man in front keep wailing until he realized the other two had been taken down. He stood there, panting heavily, staring the corpse in it's dead eyes.

The dead man raised one of the picks, taunting the man with it. Quickly the man flung his arm out and grabbed hold of the handle, tugging at it, trying to pry it from the dead guy's hand. It was of no use, the dead hand had a tight grip that wouldn't let go. The dead flicked his wrist and in an instant the sharp end of the pick was lodged in the shoulder of the man's arm. The man screamed in anguish, lifting the spike out his arm. He watched in horror as blood squirted and ran all the way down, dripping off his finger tips. He held the wound, staring at it till he heard a faint sound come from the corpse. It sounded of a slight gurgle at first, as if the dead guy was downing, but then he could make it out. He was laughing. The corpse was laughing at the man. Enraged the man swung with his good arm, driving his fist straight for the dead guy's face. But to his dismay, the only thing it struck was the steel head of the pick, crushing his knuckles against it. The cadaver laughed even harder now. The man looked at the cadaver, and with sorrowful tears in his eyes he began to beg for his life. This ceased the laughter, and the dead man looked straight into the man's eyes, the anger in them piercing like darts. The corpse then opened his arms, as if to make wings of them, then turned the handles of the picks, holding them sideways. The man begged, "Plea.." but before he could finish the word the cadaver brought the two heads of the picks together, concaving the man's head from the sides. The body dropped, and the corpse looked about at his victims.

He tossed the picks aside and grabbed a hold of the feet of two of the men, and began to drag them to the empty hole in the earth. He flung them in, one by one, saving the female he had first killed for last. As he dragged her limp body by the air to the open hole, a shadow began to rise behind him. Suddenly, he was being grappled from behind. The first mate dug her nails into his flesh, and squeezed his rib cage with her legs until she could feel the bones snap in two. Enraged the cadaver reached behind and grabbed her by the air, flinging her over his head, and yanking out a large patch of hair in the process. The first mate hit the dirt with a loud thud, then laid there, coughing in pain. He grabbed her once more by the hair, still holding the hair of the other female he began to drag both of them. He stopped by the pit and flung the dead woman in, then continued to drag the first mate all the way up to the elevator.

"Emergency, emergency! This is the captain of the SS $%!$l(&*t, we need back-up immediately! Immediately! Do you understand?! There is something out there killing my crew members. Some sort of... dead body... is attacking my crew. I want the nearest ship to get their asses over here now!" "Dead body you say? Dear lord, I thought it was just a rumor." Replied the voice on the other end. "What are you talking about?!" Demanded the captain. "Well," The voice came back, "It might be, but I'm not sure, I mean I've heard of this exile that has control over a human body in the real. I always thought it to be foolish but..." The captain flung the headset against the computer, the faint voice over the microphone rang out, "Help is on their way." But the words meant nothing to him as he sobbed in the operators chair.

Suddenly he jumped, the noise of the elevator had caught him off guard. It was moving, someone was coming up. Quickly he jumped out of the seat and darted across the room, picking up an e.m.p. gun and charging it up. The sounds of the gun and elevator began to fade under the shriek shrill of a female's screaming as the elevator moved further up. He couldn't, didn't, accept it. He whispered to himself, "It can't be." But just as soon the elevator had stopped, and there laid his lover, held like a disciplined dog by this, walking corpse. It raised her up to her feet by her hair, and slowly began walking forward, holding her out in front of it. "Stop...don't...don't you come any closer or I'll shoot! I know what you are, and who you are!" yelled the captain. His lover shrieked back, "No! Don't shoot! You'll kill me too!" and the captain quickly realized she was right. He slowly set down the gun and began bargaining with the corpse, "Take it, take it all. Take anything you want. You want the ship, it's yours. Just don't hurt her, please don't hurt her." A slow gurgling noise began to form behind the woman's head, which quickly turned into laughter. The captain then grew furious, "If you harm a hair on her head I swear to god..." The corpse only laughed harder. It walked slowly into the light, letting it's face be shown to the captain. "Dear god..." The captain said, startled by the hideous features. The corpse then let his tongue flap around, eventually sliding across the cheek of the first mate. Infuriated, the captain ran quickly towards the cadaver, ready to attack. The corpse then flung the woman aside, ready for the captain. With a fist high in the air the captain went to strike, but as soon as he got close enough he was stopped dead in his tracks. A large piece of metal shrapnel pierce him, dead center of his rib cage, right through the bottom of his heart. Blood began to trickle down his mouth and out the wound, and his lover, the first mate, screamed in sheer horror as she saw her love pierced. In a last breath he collapsed to the floor, defeated.

The cadaver let go of the piece of metal as the captain sank, then turned his attention back to the first mate. She sat on the floor, sobbing, painted white with grief and horror. The corpse walked slowly up to her, letting his shadow cover her entire curled body. He slowly reached down, she slapped his hand away, then he slapped her. Defeated she looked up, and he reached for her jaw once more, and began to caress it with the most gentle of touches that a corpse can give. He then raised his other hand and grabbed the back of her head, and in one quick twist followed by a load snap, he spun it back-ways.

He walked to the main control room, and took a seat in the captains chair. Voices rang out over the load speaker of the intercom. "Were here captain, were hovering right behind your ship. Just tell us what to do. Captain? Captain, are you there?" The corpse picked up the mic and began laughing into it, but all that came out on the other end was a gargling noise they couldn't quite make out. Voices kept ringing in, "Captain, is that you? Are you hurt? Say something, if you cant send us a feed, at least type something for Christ's-sake." The cadaver set down the microphone and picked up the controls for the ship, pressing numbers and buttons, activating it's hover-drive. More voices came, "Captain, what's going on?" Then faintly in the background came, "Someone's taken over the ship, it's got to be. Get our ship ready for evasive maneuvers. We might have to chase the sum-a-*CENSORED*."

The corpse that sat in the pilot's chair had no memories, save for the ones he was programmed with. It knew how to fight, how to kill, and how to pilot a ship. It knew how to hide, and formulate a tactical plan but did not now the "why" of its actions. One could say this was what a sentinel would look like if it were human, or some semblance of humanity, but even a sentinel knows to some degree the reason of its actions and function. The cadaver in the pilot's chair that was furiously trying to shake off his pursuers used to have more memories, used to understand the "whys" of his actions. Now all it knew was survival, and a few other things...

Although it had no recollection of times spent in the place it once called "home" or even the people that he once called "family" it's program was very direct and to the point. "At this time 00.00 on this date 00/00/0000 proceed to these coordinates ------- await further instructions there." The creature, that was really just an un-living shell, looked ahead through the canopy and saw another tunnel that would come in handy even as the pursuing ship was edging closer to it , it slowed down to take one quick look. If it could smile it would, but for the moment the only sense of emotion it had was anticipation in the glittering of its eye as a plan began to formulate...

The Captain of the pursuing ship was frantic, frantic and almost blindingly furious as he stared ahead of the canopy at the ship he was chasing. He really couldn't be blamed as he just found out the entire crew of the other ship was dead, well killed actually, by whatever that freak inside was. He couldn't be blamed at all, but the next few orders were going to be his and his fault alone. He looked down at his pilot who was steering frantically to keep up with the other ship and growled "Stay on him; I don't want that son of a *CENSORED* to get away!" The pilot didn't take his eyes off the front view but nodded and said "trying sir, he is one slippery devil." The ship lurched as it struck the side of the tunnel wall and the Captain had to hold onto the pilot's chair so he wasn't thrown around the cockpit. Reaching for the COM link he yelled "Goddamit! Keep this thing level!" The pilot could only gulp and nod silently as the captain spoke into the hand held device. "All right everyone get to your gunner posts, the bastard has no more maneuverability so he's easy pickings, fire at will!"

The carcass in the other ship stared ahead as the first tracers from the pursuing ship fired all around him. It was particularly interested in the ceiling up ahead; looking down at the instrument panel he switched on the auto-gunner and aimed for a certain spot that looked promising up ahead...

The pilot could have told the captain that this was a trap; the other members of the crew would have spoken up as well. No one however was going to say a word, not to the Captain at least as he stared ahead at the chased ship with an anticipation that was predatorily, the sentiment was just infectious and would have been quite a sight to see if it wasn't so self destructive...

The cadaver didn't fire at the ship that was chasing his, instead it fired ahead and above at the high ceiling. Round after round struck where it was intended until large cracks started to form. The creature turned off his guns and increased speed as the crackling energy from the pads began to intensify all around the tunnel. The wake from the hovercraft was the final straw for the roof as the cracks began to tremble and soon after the hovercraft passed the vibrations was enough to send the whole ceiling crashing down. The pilot had no time to slow down, no where to go except ahead, and with dawning horror he saw the first large slabs of old concrete, steel and stone come crashing down around the canopy of the ship until one large slab crashed right through it. The dead creature noted the explosion from the aft monitors with no real enthusiasm, true in a former life where he was so much more than what he was now he would have smiled in self satisfaction at a plan well executed but there were other things now that held more priority. The corpse plotted its course calmly and steered the stolen hovercraft towards home, the only sounds in the cockpit was the electronic chatter of the cockpit's instruments...

There was no way they would be able to land all four hovercraft in the landing bay and after a brief conversation via com systems they decided to park all of the hovercraft outside the massive doors that led to Rebellion Hill. Barloke walked down the ramp, and at the landing he stretched his back and winced. He saw that already Seiner, Duke, Gryn and Dxy where congregated in a group and Barloke walked over to join them. "Well all and all I would have to say that it wasn't too bad a mission" said Barloke as he reached them. Duke nodded and said "two more hovercraft in just a few hours isn't a bad way to start. Gryn looked up with some concern and said "All these hovercraft are great and all but we are gonna need some more crewmembers if we expect to make this take off. The others nodded in agreement but Seiner just smiled softly and said "Oh that isn't going to be a problem; this place is going to come alive once again." Dxy grabbed Barloke's arm and said "come on Bar, let's go see what the place looks like." Barloke looked at her as he led her to the doors and said "ok but you ain't gonna like it..."

A short walk later they were inside Rebellion Hill and Dxy dropped Barloke's arm as tears began to well up in her eyes. "Oh my god" she said breathlessly "it's all gone, all of it..." Duke put his arm around her shoulders and said softly "There there, it isn't that bad, a lot of the damage was cosmetic, and we'll have this back up and running soon." Dxy abruptly walked out of Duke's arm and turned around quickly to face them as she said angrily "that isn't the point Duke. Sure Dala hit the switch but where the hell was I?" pointing at Gryn she continued "or Jon for that matter? I'll tell you. We were following the orders of that *CENSORED* and were everywhere but where we were supposed to be!" Barloke was the only one in the group that looked intrigued and asked "She really did that?" Dxy nodded as more tears streamed down her face "Aye" she said "towards the end she had most of us go topside to look for supplies and whatnot. It seemed like she was just sending us on a wild goose chase and then we heard her transmission and then all communications was cut off." Barloke nodded as he remembered that grim day as well as Duke, it was if they could still hear the final message from Rebellion Hill...

They stood silent for a moment, each one lost in the memory of that day, when suddenly Seiner spoke up. "We got company" he said, looking down at a panel. All of them stood around Seiner as Duke asked "it is one of ours?" Seiner shook his head and said "tough to say, the ship isn't broadcasting anything, it's just on a straight course to here." Barloke nodded and said "ok then if we don't know who it is we have to guess it's unfriendly. Dxy, Gryn grab some plasma rifles and get ready to fire on it when I say. Duke let's see if we can't get these doors closed." They all nodded and started off but Seiner held up his hand and said "hold on, I'm getting something..." They looked at Seiner as he closed his eyes and soon a quirk of a smile with a touch of confusion appeared on his face. "That crazy bastard" he whispered and opened his eyes. Looking at the group he said "looks like another family member found home..."

It wasn't long before the new arrival appeared. The ship looked like it took some serious damage in the aft section as it hovered almost uncertainly at the doors of Rebellion Hill. Then as if coming to a decision, it glided away from the entrance to the other assembled hovercraft and finding a roomy spot began to land. Well "land" isn't an accurate term, if turning off all power and unceremoniously crashing down in a heap was what it meant. Barloke and the rest winced at the screeching metal and Duke commented lowly "That's a few weeks repair right there..." They heard a crash of glass from the canopy section and a figure emerged from their. The figure climbed out and jumped down to the ground where it stood motionless, just staring back at them. The group looked at each other for a moment before the stench hit them. Dxy covered her mouth immediately and the others were in various states of gagging and coughing. Finally, when they were more or less used to the stench they started to walk in the direction of the new arrival.

Dxy recognized the man first and she said through her cupped mouth "it can't be...17?"

Barloke approached the figure cautiously who appeared to be staring off into space or whatever like it was just passing time."17, is that really you?" In truth Barloke couldn't tell one way or another, it looked a little like him especially on the other side of his face that looked more or less intact.

To 17 or what was once 17 the people that approached him were merely objects, whether they were hostile or not was still unknown but his programming was not about to take the chance as the grey haired one approached closer. Barloke approached carefully and just as his eyes widened in recognition, 17 looked over to him and reached behind his back. The blade glinted wickedly and Barloke had just enough time to step to the side before the blade found his guts. Reaching up he grabbed 17's wrist and twisted it enough so he let go of the knife, but 17 wasn't out of tricks yet. Barloke may have saved his guts but his face was going to take a hit as 17 slammed his fist against it. Barloke shook his head once and used his shoulder to slam back into 17, knocking them both to the floor.

Both men grappled on the ground, and Barloke just had enough time to hold 17 down and look up, yelling at the rest "Don't just stand there! Get him off of me!" just before 17 knocked Barloke off balance.

Gryn was younger and faster so he was the first to tackle 17 back to the ground which gave Barloke and Duke enough time to help keep 17 down. "Get some rope" said Duke as they struggled with 17. Dxy raced off and soon returned with some rope, which they tied tightly around 17. He didn't yell or cry out that his movements were impeded; he simply accepted it as a condition or an obstacle he had to overcome. They carried him to a hovercraft and secured him to a chair. He looked back at them all without a hint of malice but with something more like curiosity. Barloke looked at Duke and said lowly "This is not good, that's 17 all right but I think he's really dead." Duke nodded and agreed "he did feel way too cold when we brought him here."

"That's because he is really dead" They all looked at Seiner curiously and he continued "This is remarkable" he said "he somehow has managed to transfer some of his consciousness into this shell, just enough to make it functional." "Well that's all well and good" said Barloke "but where the hell is the rest of him?" Seiner looked at Barloke with a raised eyebrow and said "where else is there left to go besides the Real?"

In the Matrix, a man laughed light heartedly at the dinner table. It wouldn't normally be anything of note if it wasn't for the author of such laughter, but before we look at the man, let's look at the place he called "home."

The carpet was jet black with a texture that you could sink your bare feet in for hours. The walls as well were black, only broken up by various pieces of art that were expensive as well as extravagant in their own right. The sofas, TV, and stereo were in black as well as the glass coffee table. The only break-up of the solid black appearance was the ceiling that was painted a dark blood red and the soft hue of the lamps. A designer would have probably said that owner of those things had a taste for the macabre. It looked all elegant and classy but it had a touch of foreboding. This was not a place one would hang their hat for very long and in truth it was exactly how the man that laughed wanted it.

The dinner table was of course black and except for the dinnerware and glasses it would have been totally dark but there were candles lit, soft jazz was playing in the background, a beautiful girl and a man that was doing his best to be charming.

Now let's look at the man.

This was a man that had a lifetime of killing; he had visited places most would have liked to avoid. The cold part of him lived for those places, whether it was the sewers, the train tunnels, or an alley. These were places that where hard killing was done and it was also the places that the man known as 17 was most feared, but things do change. Rebellion Hill was in flames and like many still loyal to the code, he knew he had to lay low. He had to shy away from his old haunts and old ways and in doing that, he knew that he had to shed some of the more "aggressive" aspects of him, the parts that wanted to kill the most.

Soon after RCA went under, 17 looked for help. He heard the rumors and knew it was experimental but he was desperate and he needed a way out, any way. He was crafty enough to just leave the violent parts of him behind in the shell of a body in the Real and keep the rest in his RSI. The procedure was very dangerous and very expensive, but 17 had dump trucks of cash all around the city and as far as danger was concern, it didn't matter nothing to him. He stopped doing the things that he did well. He put on a mask of civility and put on coat of a new life for himself for added measure, he even looked different. He had sandy colored hair and wore glasses; his suit was impeccable with the blood red tie and expensive shoes. His markings he bore on his face, vanished. Even his distinct missing jaw, which had made him a sore thumb without his usual black mask, had been falsely reinstated. He had the air of someone that is accustomed to leisure and the finer things in life. A far cry from a man whose hands were once literally bathed in blood, who dressed as grittily as the death he dealed.

17 laughed, "De1uSi0N, my love, you're just as out your programming as the day the machines created you." he clanked his wine glass against hers that sat untouched on the table. She giggled and responded back, "Ah, a compliment from my dear Dead. I will put it in my pocket, the one closest to my heart for safe keeping from the suit-men." She paused briefly. "Dead? Where are you? I mean, I know you‘re here, but here is not your normal here, it‘s a different here for you. You‘re a different you, I don‘t like you, I did like you when you were you, but here has changed the you." He looked at her almost surprised as she looked back in an almost innocent fashion. True he knew things were different with him. He was an exile in hiding, but it wasn't a life that was geared for suffering, far from it. 17 sampled everything the Matrix had to offer, from the beautiful and awe inspiring to the dark and decadent. Every experience was like a new flavor for 17 that he sampled with relish and without regret. His whole persona radiated from his experiences and it turned out a more enhanced version of his former self, one that has seen all and experienced it all. And in that also lay the dilemma; he was growing bored with his existence.

The beautiful lady could sense it but didn't want to press the issue, she knew him for quite a while to know that 17 would speak when he felt it was necessary. He placed his hand gently down on the knee of the fellow exile, "You're right, this isn't me. Truth be told..." He paused for a moment, scanning the room, "...I despise it all. I get tired of living in this way. Hiding while in exile, well, I would have preferred a better place then this." There was a silence. 17 took a sip of his red wine, imported straight from France, with a matrix age almost an eighth of his own. "Then why Dead-man?" De1uSi0N mused. He laughed softly behind his mask. "Why? Because no one would expect it, my dear. No one would find me here."

A sudden rapping at the door caused both to look in that direction. 17's eyes squinted for a moment. He rose from his seat, simultaneously pulling a pistol out of his suit jacket. He walked up to the door and pressed his ear against it, then turned to the side of it and motioned for De1uSi0N to come answer. He held his pistol high, roughly at an average height of a head. She walked to the door and turned the knob slowly, swinging it open. 17 watched her as she acknowledged the person standing at the door way, "Hi, do I know you?" there was a pause for a moment, then a response. "Hmmm, I may have the wrong place. One moment miss." De1uSi0N nodded.

Barloke was sure this was the right address but the woman at the door was not what he expected. She was clearly an Exile, and Barloke concentrated one moment as the Matrix revealed it's true self to him, he could tell she was not alone and the man behind the wall had a gun. She looked at him expectantly as he stood there with his eyes closed briefly. He opened them and smiled slowly, saying "Sorry to have bothered you but I wanted to know if you knew the whereabouts of one called "Seventeen-Dead." Now it was her turn to look surprised but it was not because of what the man asked, it was because of what the man looked like, really looked like and Barloke knew why.

Every Program in the Matrix whether with the System or not has the inherited ability to see the Matrix for what it really is. Blue Pills or the Unawakened have a distinct color code pattern as well as Agents, Exiles, Corrupted programs or Red Pills (awakened). Barloke's pattern was however different and although the beautiful exile female was surprised, curiosity took over. "What kind of a program are you?" she asked silkily with a slow smile forming on her face. Barloke blinked back, surprised at the question but answered "I never said I was, but to answer your question, no. I am not a program. Now, about 17...?" She pouted and was just about to say a lie when a voice answered "Let him in." She opened the door wider and as he stepped through, finally came face to face with the man he sought...

17 recognized the voice of the man behind the door, but Agents had tried to pull that stunt a few times and 17 was damned lucky to have gotten away from them with his skin intact. It was the comment she made about the stranger's appearance that intrigued him. 17 looked at the wall he was behind and saw the Matrix for what it really was. In that he saw the man that sought him and what he really was. This was no trap and the man was someone he knew from a better past, he knew he had to see him and said to De1uSi0N "let him in" as he put away his gun.

They looked at each other for a moment, each surprised at what the other had become.

"You look different without the Mohawk." 17 chuckled and responded "The gray is a new look for you my friend." Barloke looked over his friend and said "since when did you need glasses?" 17 nodded and said "just to keep appearances is all; it is good to see you." Barloke smiled slightly and said "good to see you too bro." They both hugged as two long lost friends, as two brothers who have shared combat and death. Both have went through all the fires of hell but they stood together as family, and now in that moment they were a family reunited...

Barloke sat on the sofa and looked around saying "what the hell is this place anyway? Looks like something out of a Dracula movie." 17 chuckled and passed a glass of scotch over to Barloke before sitting down on the sofa opposite of Barloke; De1uSi0N immediately sat down next to 17, an arm draped over his shoulders. "Well it's one of the places I like to call home" sad 17 as he took a sip of his wine. "What's the rent like?" 17 shook his head as he settled the wine glass on the table and said "rent's not really an issue since I partially own the building." Barloke whistled "that's a lot of cash, especially in Downtown." 17 chuckled and said "well you taught me how to come by cash, but I don't think you came here to talk real estate." "No I didn't" admitted Barloke as he took a swig of scotch "I have to ask you something, do you remember what happened to your human counterpart in the Real?" 17 looked surprised but said "well last I remember I dumped him in some tunnel. It was a very dangerous time for me, hell for everyone after Rebellion Hill was blasted." Barloke looked on grimly and said "well it seems like he or it found its way back to the Hill." 17 coughed once and the look on his face was unreadable as well as the tone of his voice when he said "I gave it standing orders to go back to the Hill if it detected any kind of transmission from there." He looked at Barloke curiously and asked "Is Rebellion Hill active again."

Barloke grimaced and answered "well it's beat to *poop* and there's a ton of work to do before we can even get the ships in but it still stands." 17 looked down and asked softly "who's left?" "Besides me..." said Barloke "Dxy, Gryn, Duke and Seiner." "Seiner" 17 smiled "that must be how you found me." Barloke nodded back in agreement and said "well you know he has his way. Anyway your human counterpart crashed his ship close by, hopped out of the cockpit. He looks like some Dawn of the Dead extra and stinks to high heaven. I don't know what you programmed him with but he is a homicidal psychopath that tried to gut me as soon as he saw me. We got him tied down and he's ok but we want to know what you want us to do with him."

17 sighed and stayed silent for a moment before speaking. Looking at Barloke he said "You know, they never tell you what it's like if you take the Blue Pill. Oh, you wake up and forget everything or the memory is so vague that you chalk it up to dreams, but what happens if you keep your memories? I've been living the life of an Exile both in the Matrix and the Real. After the Hill was in ruins, I sought to it that people would be given that Pill of amnesia. The ones who did not wish to accept the Real. The ones that wished only for the Matrix. It didn't take long to be hated for my actions. I discovered, no matter how hard you try to help the humans, they just seem to hate you just the same, if not more. I gave up on that foolish quest rather quickly. After that.." 17 paused, clenching his fist and grinding his teeth, a habit he had found amusing now that he could, "...my only means of helping the awakened, and even un-awakened, was by giving them peace..." He paused, then grinned sinisterly slightly, "...in death. This of course brought much heat down upon me. Agents, Red Pills, even several of my fellow Exiles wanted me dead, and most still do to this day. You can fly a hovercraft only so long before the batteries drain out, and you can only hide in the Matrix so long before someone or something recognizes you and knows there is a death mark on you. So I changed myself, I wanted to stay in the Matrix, but not through means of my human half, not as some weak Blue Pill. I wanted my memories, but I also wanted the very thing that would give me away, and I guess it was my aggression, but I think I may not have been thorough enough in extracting that part of me because I am growing so tired of hiding, of living a façade that really isn't me. I can still taste the blood, day in and day out, I crave it."

17 looked at Barloke with eyes that seemed devoid of emotion, but there was an intensity there as he spoke "I want to go back." he said simply "I want to be with my family again, with the exception of De1uSi0N there is nothing for me here, in this lifestyle." Barloke nodded and said "well you know the door is always open but are you sure this is what you want to do? I mean you seem to be doing well and let's face it, your human body in the Real is a wreck." 17 chuckled and said "It's only money. Whatever I lose I can make more of. As far as pain, well, you always said that goes with the territory, so I'll just have to bear with it and make do. I do have one condition though." Barloke raised an eyebrow "and that is?" 17 reached for De1uSi0N's hand and said "she joins us as well." Barloke stretched a little and said "well if she wants to she can, but isn't she an Exile?" 17 nodded, then responded, "Though, technically, even with my human puppet in the Real, I am an Exile as well." He turned to De1uSi0N, "Would you be interested, my dear?" He asked. De1uSi0N looked up into his eyes, "Oh Dead-man. You know I would follow you to the end of the coded-edge, then to the beginning, only to see another beautiful end. I have one condition though, and it doesn't smell good but can still burn your eyes." 17 chuckled, then asked, "What is it?" She grinned softly, "I'll only go if Dead-man can come too. The Dead-man I know, not the one you brought from richey-rich-never-true land." He laughed softly and nodded, then turned back to Barloke. "She's a *CENSORED* good fighter, and she is a lot craftier then she lets on." "Well she's got my vote" said Barloke "but how are we gonna get you back in your body?"

17 smiled softly and said "just plug him in, I'll handle the rest."

A fluffy yellow cloud passed as De1uSi0N sat at the long black table, staring up at the ceiling. Her expression was blank, looking around the room as if she were not in it, though, part of her wasn't. She leaned across the table, stretching her arm out as a pink frog with round purple dots, then purple with the opposite leaped out the sleeve of her jacket. She watched them leap across the table as the top began melting away and gave form to a small patch of grassy marshland, and she decided her frogs might keep her company while she waited for 17. The frogs nestled on a water lily, which sprung from a blooming puddle of water, their chests heaving in and out. They're eyes blinked as they let out continuous croaking sounds, scanning the surroundings. De1uSi0N mimicked them, thinking to herself as she looked around, letting out small croaks.

17 stood out on the veranda, gazing into the stars that blanketed the sleeping city. He listened to the soft cool breeze as it guided past his body. His mind was utterly blank, as it were allowed at this time. For the moment in time he had nothing, no worries, no commitment. The only thing he could feel was patience. He looked down at his hands which were holding his lean, then to the item he held in-between his hands and the railing.

The code behind him began assimilating, breaking his concentration, in front of the sliding glass doors leading to the decadent balcony. The green code fell rather quickly, rolling down the smooth baldheaded crown, curving around what smooth facial features it had, and dripping off of the lack of. It curved around the shoulders, and gave way to the form of man. His appearance began to emerge, not a particularly striking man, one that some would call ‘average looking'. He was thin but still had a slight muscular tone, tan skin, and the height that ranged tall, but no more then 6 feet. He stood upright, almost perfectly with his back straight, not moving a muscle. His gleaming blue eyes were fixed on the man in front of him, the only part of him moving, following the actions as the man turned about to acknowledge him. His eyes moved back and forth as the man softly began a small pace before him.

17 stepped from side to side, eyeing up the man, the one he considered his highest form of art. There were many others he could have chosen, more he could have gone to had he tired with this particular flesh, but for some reason, he felt that the first and only one was ever efficient enough. He stopped suddenly, moving his arms away from his back, revealing the katana he held. The eyes of the man moved from 17's face to the sword then back, an expression of understanding seen through them. 17 unsheathed the sword and raised it to his shoulder, pressing the back of the hilt against his palm. He lunged forward, piercing the man dead center of his chest, directly through his beating heart.

17 closed his eyes as his code began coming apart. The code floated like a feather, retaining his perfect form, until a sudden burst of wind forced it forward into the man who stood erect. It blew him back, and burst the glass of the sliding door behind him. He lay on the floor in a pit of shards that reflected his image. His skin began to burn from underneath, crisping into ashes and floating away in the breeze. He screamed in a manner of pain as his perfect jaw line began to melt away, the bone tumbling from his throat to the floor. His hair receded, and grew erect in the straight line of a black mohawk across his scalp.

The gleaming moon reflected off the face of 17. As his body twisted, a green glow rose from the smooth skin wrapped around his skull in the thick, green outlined shape of a cross. He breathed heavy for a moment, blinking his eyes as they began to fade from a beautiful bright blue into a dark miserable yellow. He rose to his feet slowly, sweeping his suit of dust and small pieces of fragmented glass. After setting his body straight, he turned on his heel, crunching the glass beneath, and making haste for the door. As he reached for the door knob he paused a moment to watch a lowly black cat run quickly across his path.

17 rose to his feet, taking note in the cleanliness of his new black Yoshi Triga trench coat. He straightened his back, and began to turn around on his heel, grinding it against the paved porch. He reached for the door knob and paused, starring at himself in the glass in front of him. He had changed back to how he used to look, how he should look. Gruesome, dark, and mysterious. His cold yellow eyes hidden behind his Pravea sunglasses. This pleased him. He turned the knob and slid his reflection from view, then took a step back into his sky rise apartment.

De1uSi0N stroked the chin on one of her colorful frogs as it expanded and contracted. In a wash of reality her dreams of frogs, and nature, and beautiful multi-colored butterflies that flapped past her face began to wash away as her attention was turned to the entrance of the dinning hall. 17 stood there, changed, looking down at her. She rose from the chair, examining 17 from head to toe, then extended out her hand towards his face. She rubbed her palm gently across his cheek, then lowered across his lips, then down to his jagged top row of teeth. She followed his teeth until she came to the hanging flesh that exposed the full length of his tongue and the open area of the lower half of his mouth. She ran her fingers across it, making sure it was all real and not another illusion.

Without saying a word she retracted her hand and reached inside her purple jacket's sleeve, withdrawing a red bandana, tied to a blue bandana, tied to a white bandana, tied to a black bandana. She held them up, showing them off for 17's choosing. He reached out, understanding her offering for his need, and began to untie the black bandana from the line. He wrapped it around his face and tied a knot in the back, fastening it snuggly to hide his disfiguration. He nodded to her and spoke to her.

"It is time to give our audience to our liege."