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>How was your day?

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>Same old same old.

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>Same old what?

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>You know. Office work stuff. Papers and stacks of things. Boring stuff. How about you?

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>Same old same old.

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>Aw come on. You've gotta tell me something.

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>... Okay

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>Okay.... What?

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>I crunched some big numbers. Big theories.

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>Haha! I knew it! You're a math genius!

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>I'm not that special. Not compared to some of the other big shots here.

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>Don't say that! Come on, what'd you figure out?

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>It's complicated.

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>How?

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>It's hard to explain.

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>Why?

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>Because math is tricky.

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>Not for you. You hacked into my computer. I traced you.

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>And you say not to put myself down. Tracking me isn't easy you know :)

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>I'm a computer nerd remember? Office jockey.

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>I have a question.

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>Oh. Okay.

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>You traced me. So why didn't you call the cops on me?

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>Because your trail went nowhere. It just.... disappeared. So, I hacked you back :)

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>Well, here we are then.

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>Here we are. You know, we should meet sometime.

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>I don't think that's a good idea.

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>Why not? :(

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>It's.... complicated.

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>Somebody else?

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>No. My work is just, messy. All over the place.

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>You should see the stacks of paper in the office.

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>I'll think about it.

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>Really!?

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>I promise. No guarantees though.

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>Awesome!

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>I've gotta go now. Have a good night :)

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>You too! :)

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The sun dawned across the city, spreading light over the towering skyscrapers, reflecting off hundreds of stories worth of window panes. And the city began to pulse once more. The night occupants disappeared in the wake of the light, and the steady rhythm of people and traffic flowed. Traffic and sounds, people and work, a steady pulse like a heartbeat.

On parallel with the clinking of keys. Keys on a computer, reports being filed and made, data being created and stored. He worked in one of these towering buildings, a man of the office. Nothing remarkable, nothing abnormal. Dull even. As he worked, filing reports and stacks of work, he thought about it. He wasn't remarkable. He wasn't abnormal. Why was he happy with that? Why was he content?

It was strange. He knew this. He knew, that he should be unhappy. How could he not? Day in and day out, he worked here. He wasn't even climbing up the ladder. He was just an employee. The only thing he had, was Frank and Jessica. Two longtime friends. Nerds they were, in high school. Nerds they were in adulthood, although now, instead of wearing shirts to commemorate their favorite TV shows or games, they wore office suits.

Boxed in nerds is what they were. Stuffed into suits and marching along like everybody else. And yet they were happy. He didn't get it. He continued his work, absent mindedly trudging along through files and reports. Numbers and codes, all headed off to someone to look through. Endless tides of files and numbers, all meaning something, to a person who knew what the code was. Even a machine. Codes to do this. Codes for yes. Codes for no.

He worked as a cog in the machine, writing, copying and spreading numbers out, which would go to people, who would put them through machines, which would do other work for people. One big loop. And then, it was lunch time.

He sat in the cafeteria with Frank and Jessica, occasionally adding to the discussion of their favorite shows, things and movies they'd watched recently. All the office small talk between friends. But he was quiet today. Thinking about things. He was an office jockey to be sure. Computers were his business. Which was why, a week ago when he'd come home, he noticed something strange about his computer. He couldn't put his finger on it.

And a little digging, he'd found out that somebody had gone through it. Somebody had come in, looked through every single last one of his files, and then left. It had scared him. Not that he had anything to hide of course. But it scared him that they did nothing. Nothing was out of line, nothing was stolen, none of his bank accounts emptied or credit cards overcharged.

It bugged him. Gnawed at him, and eventually, he did some more digging. It was tough. Really tough. But he found a paper trail. Someone entered his computer remotely. And the more he started digging, the more he was bothered. The paper trail led out to the world, pinged from places, all over. But it vanished. Like a ghost.He followed every ping, going further and further back to the original source.

And then it was gone.

The pings across the net, from service providers, routers, anything, and it just stopped dead in mid transit. Almost as if the signal itself came from nowhere before slipping into the net. He closed his eyes, thinking. Pushing the glasses up from his brow. How did he do it? It was like a stroke of mad genius. And he was trying to remember how he ended up conversing with the unknown intruder into his home computer. A voice brought him back.

"Mark? Hey, you feeling okay?"

He wiped his forehead, looking down to his coffee and sandwich, ignored. Jessica and frank stared at him, looking him over. He sighed, shaking his head.

"Yeah. I'm okay. Just, thinking."

Back to the lull of the world, of idle conversation at lunch hour. But his thoughts strayed once more to how he had done it. He couldn't remember. But somehow, he ended up in a conversation with the hacker. And found a person of interest beyond his office cubicle and the almost ritual, daily grind of business and life.

He took a sip of coffee, setting the mug down onto the table. He shook his head. What was that? He rubbed his eyes again, staring down at the mug in his hands. There it was again. Like some faint ghost. Numbers. Small numbers. A scrawling code. He set the mug down, going to work on his sandwich instead, joining into the conversation with Frank and Jessica. He must be working too hard lately.

Back to the daily grind of things after lunch, as he sat at his computer, filing more reports for the day, absorbed into his work, absorbed in the endless stream of words or numbers, files and meanings to all of them. Codes for this, codes for that. This company made this much and so on. He worked like the office drone he was, and he was good at his job.

And then, an interruption from the stream of his work. A co-worker, traveling about in the office, nudging him in the back, breaking him away from work.

"Hey, Mark. There's somebody here to see you."

He looked back at his computer screen, adjusting his glasses, rubbing his eyes. That was a welcome relief. He turned in his chair, looking past his co-worker to a lone man standing behind him, waiting patiently. And suddenly, it wasn't such a relief. He stood up from his chair regardless, holding out a hand to the imposing suited man. His co-worker spoke for him.

"Mark, this is agent, uhhh...."

The man tilted his head, eyes obscured by dark, simply rounded sunglasses, speaking in a firm voice that was almost flat, monotone but filled with authority.

"Gray. Call me Agent Gray."

"Agent Gray, this is Mark Chakowski."

Mark still held out his hand awkwardly, Gray making no advances whatsoever. Mark's co-worker simply nodded, leaving him alone with Gray. The man was imposing, clad in a simple dark suit that was uniform with no real outstanding features, but still remaining definable and sharp, easily recognizable. Mark's hand slid down to his side, as Gray spoke bluntly.

"Come with me. We have some things to discuss Mr. Chakowski."

"Did I do something wrong sir?"

Gray waited until Mark moved first, stepping alongside him past rows of cubicles.

"On the contrary Mr. Chakowski, your files say you are quite accomplished in your work. You're efficient in your work, why, one could say, almost like a computer itself."

Gray looked over to Mark, eyes obscured behind imposing dark sunglasses.

"But, there is a problem."

"Sir, I don't know what you mean. If you've been through my file here with this company I've been here for five years now and I have never slipped up."

Gray nodded as the two continued along through the winding maze of cubicles.

"Why that's exactly the point Mr. Chakowski. A man like you should be in higher places, and yet, here you are. Why is that, Mr. Chakowski?"

Mark walked along, exiting from the office space with Gray and into the winding hallways of the building.

"I don't know sir."

Gray walked along through the hallway with Mark, until eventually finding and turning to a door, ushering Mark into a blank office, with large windows that overlooked the other skyscrapers of the city outside below. Gray closed the door behind himself, ushering to Mark for sit down.

"Have a seat Mr. Chakowski."

Mark stepped forward, sitting down uncomfortably in one of the guest chairs at the main desk to the office, as Gray circled around him casually. Gray continued circling around Mark slowly, as if he were a shark, waiting. Mark stayed silent, likewise, waiting. Gray broke the silence.

"Mr. Chakowski, it has come to our attention that recently there was a breach of security into this company's privacy and records."

"Sir if you're implyi-"

"Mr. Chakowski please stay quiet and allow me to finish my point."

Gray circled around Mark with a bite in his voice and the by now, ever imposing visage concealed behind his oddly intimidating glasses.

"Records show that the breach came from the outside. But we, and your employers suspect, that the breach was assisted."

Gray circled around Mark once more before finally sitting down across from him, crossing his hands together as he stared directly at Mark.

"Keep in mind, Mr. Chakowski, you are under oath. We will find the source of the breach eventually."

Gray tilted his head, as he slicked back his hair and adjusted his suit collar.

"The only question now is, when we find the breach, will you be a prime suspect, or a helpful assistant, deserving of the rewards that come with being promoted?"

Gray folded his hands together once more, watching Mark. Mark adjusted his glasses, rubbing his forehead. He felt sick. Sick on two accounts now, as his thoughts returned to his home computer. He rubbed his eyes, looking up to Gray.

"Sir.....are you bribing me?"

Gray tilted his head, rubbing his hand across the desk, bringing it up to look at the light coating of dust on his fingers.

"No Mr. Chakowski, I am offering you the luxury of choice."

"But I've done nothing wrong sir! I can't....."

Mark's vision blurred and he did a double take on Gray. There. Across his sunglasses. Numbers, scrolling by, like faint ghosts. Mark stood up from his chair suddenly, falling off balance towards the table. Gray had stood up now as well, but the only thing Mark remembered was the upside down feeling of puking, and the ghost like numbers that scrolled by, a sense of vertigo that upset Mark to puking and then promptly fainting on the spot.

The end of the day came quickly, with Mark finding himself being sent home. He had puked across Gray's suit and was almost sure that at that point the man was going to kill him, even though he boasted an eerie, apathetic reaction of disinterest and non-concern before leaving. Mark was worried, the beginnings of the conversation with Gray going over and over in his head.

He had done nothing wrong. But he hadn't gotten to make his point before messing everything up. He was suddenly worried now. What if Gray was tracing the hacker that found their way into Mark's home computer? No. It couldn't be. And yet, it worried him all the same. He found himself going over things again and again, as he waited, stuck in traffic.

Could it really be the same hacker? What if the hacker was following him? He retraced his steps from a few days ago. How had he done it? He couldn't remember. One minute all the pings went dead with no trail........and the next, he had opened up a chat and pulled the hacker to him....

Mark shook his head, stressed and lost from it all. He looked forwards to the endless lines of traffic, going only forwards in a slow crawl through lights that refused to turn over. He sighed, honking the horn of his vehicle out of some vain sense of desperation before putting his head down on the steering wheel.

Why now? Why, why of all times was it this? A government man, barking him up a tree. Coming from nowhere and bribing him with the notions of promotions if he was a good little worker. He hadn't done anything wrong in the first place! But, at the same time.....his job. Why was he stuck here? Why had he not gone higher up? Why was he stuck here in a dead end desk cubicle writing reports all day long?

The honk of another car's horn behind him woke him to the fact that the line had now moved forward, one whole car space, only to stop dead in its tracks once more. Mark rolled forwards, only to stop in a depressingly routine manner. He clenched at the steering wheel. This was stupid. Mark looked up to the traffic lights ahead. Solid red as always.

And then he saw it. Far off, yet still there. Like ghosts. Scrawling code. It made him sick. Made him dizzy. And then, it clicked. Like a key turning in a lock he watched the code scrawl down. The numbers, almost endless in their patterns and length, scrawling down continuously. And he understood. It was code. It was the code that meant everything.

He watched in idle fascination as the code shifted as the light changed to green, and the line rolled forward. The line of traffic crawled forwards, only a few cars managing to get through the intersection before the light inevitably changed to yellow, and then to red. Mark's eyes strained as he adjusted his glasses, honed in onto the code.

He couldn't look away. And then, he started following it. The code, the patterns, all meant something. So, if he moved one block of numbers around, switched their order and replaced some of the other with new code, then the light should turn green. Mark blinked, rubbing his eyes as the light turned green.

He rolled forwards, and to his sudden joy, the light stayed green. He kept rolling forwards among traffic, all the way up to the intersection and beyond it, smiling as he drove forwards. For once he had gotten lucky. Those traffic lights usually had a tendency to turn red much sooner.

Maybe today wasn't all bad. Hopefully the evening would be better too.

>Hey. You on tonight?

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>-----

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>Come on. Please. I've really gotta talk to you.

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>I'm here.

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>Why did you hack into my computer? Are you following me?

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>That's a little sudden.

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>Not for somebody who broke my privacy. Are you following me?

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>No.

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>Did you hack into the company I work at?

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>Yes.

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>Why?

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>It's complicated.

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>No, no it's not complicated. You used me didn't you?

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>Listen. I can't just tell you what I'm working on. It's complicated. It's more complex than you'll be able to understand.

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>Then tell it to me like I'm stupid then. Because a man showed up at my office today, FBI, NSA, I don't know. But he scared the hell out of me and started talking about stuff and then he tried to bribe me.

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>----

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>Are you there?

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>Did you listen to what I just said? Some government type guy is watching me and he scared the hell out of me and I puked all over his suit and he left. I think he wants to kill me.

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>I'm here.

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>That man is after you isn't he?

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>Yes. We need to talk.

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>Talk? What do you mean?

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>Go outside.

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>What?

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>Go outside.

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>It's late and it's raining.

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>There's an old phone booth on the corner of your block. I'm going to call it in five minutes. If you miss the call you'll be in trouble.

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>No wait why can't you just tell me here?

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>Because what I have to say is important. Trust me.

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>Trust you? You hacked into my computer! You got me in trouble with some KGB organization who's probably tracing my computer right now! Trust you? Why?

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>You're talking to me right now :)

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>And no, they aren't tracing this conversation. I made sure of that :)

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>Three minutes and counting by the way ;)

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Mark scrambled through his house in the late night, slipping into something vaguely resembling something one would wear outside, tossing on his raincoat and scrambling out of his apartment, down the flights of stairs to the lobby below, and out to the street. The cold night air and rain blustered across Mark's face, his glasses quickly fogging.

The hacker didn't say which corner the box was on. He frantically panicked, going back and forth between which way he was going to go, when out in the rain, he heard it. The telltale ring of a phone, echoing out in the night. Mark began running as fast as he could towards the direction that sounded closest, passing along his apartment block.

And there, on one of the street corners under a lamp sat the old phone booth. The phone was still ringing, putting an immense sense of urgency onto Mark as he slipped on the rain soaked pavement, crashing into the doors and forcing his way through them to pick up the phone.

"Hello! Yes, I'm here it's me!"

Static blurred the line briefly, before a voice spoke. Or rather, a collection of voices, all scrambled together.

"I can't talk long. They can't trace me on the networks but they do monitor the phones."

"Who does? That government agent?"

"They don't matter. You need to leave as soon as possible. You can't go into work tomorrow do you understand me?"

"Listen I can talk to the man who spoke to me, I didn't get to finish what I was going to say to him."

"That doesn't matter now. You're flagged as a potential threat and those agents won't care what you have to say."

"Agents? What do you mean agents?"

"Listen to me I don't have long. It is important that you remember these numbers."

The garbled collection of voices proceeded to recite a long string of numbers. Mark's head was spinning, as rain blustered into the phone booth from the doors he'd left open. But he remembered the numbers. They stuck out to him as if they were burned into his memory. And then, the phone line went dead.

Mark was left in the night, listening to the dial tone of a dead phone. Rain continued to pour down onto everything, and the occasional passerby in a vehicle caught his attention. But something seemed wrong. He felt like he was being watched. He felt as if this entire apartment block, this entire city block, was suddenly vacant except for him.

He pushed out of the phone booth, pulling his hood up in the rain and began walking back to his apartment block.

Mark checked over the chat once he'd found his way back home, only to find it completely vacant. Whoever they were, they were gone. And he was on his own now. He didn't know why he felt like it. But he suddenly felt alone. And that code. That string of numbers. He could almost just figure out what they were. They meant something. But he didn't know what.

The silence in Mark's home was broken by the sharp interruption of his phone, which admittedly made Mark jump. He reached out to it as it sat there on his desk, ringing. Maybe it was the hacker. Mark paused. No. Something told him to leave it. The phone continued to ring, until the answering machine finally took over.

"Hey Mark, its Jess. You had me and Frank really worried when you left early today, something wrong? You missed movie night too. I heard there's a bug going around the office. If you're sick you should get some rest okay? Call us when you can."

The answering machine clicked and that was that. Mark sighed, sliding his glasses off. Frank and Jessica. They were always there for him. He wasn't alone after all. They were right. He wasn't sick. He didn't feel sick. But he was stressed. Tired. He should get some rest. Maybe take some days off.

He'd arrange something tomorrow.

Dawn arrived, and like a steady heartbeat the city came back to life. Mark woke up to his daily routine of morning business before work, and then promptly left for work, as usual. Stuck in traffic, as usual. The climb up the building, through steps or riding in the elevator, and the routine, back of his hand memory of the path to his cubicle. It was all routine.

But last night was still on Mark's head. Like a faint buzz or an itch. It was behind him now. In the back of his head. Almost. Almost forgotten. But Mark continued about his day. And so his day marched on. Through the early morning slog of wanting to go back to sleep. To go back home. Through the afternoon conversations with Frank and Jessica, both worried about him, and the almost completely forgotten lunch that sat undisturbed at the table.

The day was routine as ever. He didn't know why he was here. He was aware of how tiresome it all was. How routine. But it always.....slipped his mind. Disappeared into the background. A buzzing in Mark's pocket suddenly alerted him, snapped him away from his computer screen, breaking the monotone grind of the day.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket. Who would be calling him at this time of day? Not even Frank or Jessica would bother texting him, let alone calling him. Mark took the call, lowering his voice to a hush despite the clinking of keys and office chatter and calls all around him.

"Hello? Who's speaking?"

The same garbled voices spoke, snapping Mark back to an uncomfortable reality.

"They're coming for you. I told you. You needed to move."

"Who's coming?"

"Agents. Gray. You remember Gray, right Mark?"

Memories snapped back in a flash through some haze.

"I didn't do anything!"

"That doesn't matter. You're a visible anomaly now and the Agents have flagged you. Mark, listen to me. You have to move, NOW."

"I can't. I've got my job, and Fran-"

"They will kill you Mark."

"I don't believe you. This is some hoax. Leave me alone and stop following me!"

Mark hung up. He sighed, tossing the phone onto his desk, only to have it buzz once more. He stared at it. Reluctantly, he picked it up once more and took the call. The garbled voices had disappeared now, replaced with one, solid voice. A woman.

"Mark. Listen to me. I'm trying to help you. I've been trying to help you, for a very, very long time."

Mark stayed silent.

"I know you're listening. Which means you know I'm right. Mark. Those agents will kill you on sight. Believe me. This has happened, dozens of times over. You need to listen to me, and trust me because I am your only friend right now."

Mark took off his glasses, wiping his forehead.

"Okay."

"Good. Now then. Agents are ruthless Mark. But they're simple minded. If you're going to get out of here you need to do something unexpected."

"H-how?"

"Don't take the roof. Don't take the elevator. Take the stairs. Go down to the lobby, and keep going down to sub-parking. There's a red van on the first floor, third section. Keys are inside."

"Wait, won't they be expecting me to try and drive away?"

"Good. You're smart Mark. Yes. Go to the van, turn the keys inside, and then run. You'll have 15 seconds to get away from the van. All three Agents will head towards the source. One in the garage parking will move in. One in the lobby will head down. And Gray will try to outpace you."

"Wait. Hold up. Is.....is the van a bomb?"

Mark hushed at the words, trying to keep quiet.

"Yes. It's rigged to explode but cause minimal damage."

Mark paused, going silent. Something didn't make sense. Through the foggy haze of last night, Mark remembered. They could trace the phone calls. And then he realized. It was fake. The van. The plan. It was a diversion. Something clicked in Mark's head. Numbers. The long string of numbers that had stayed there.

Coordinates. Times. Every number and combination had a meaning. Mark's head sifted through the code that he'd memorized perfectly, and right there before him, were the answers. The entire plan. Everything. It clicked like a lock being unlatched. And then. There they were. The numbers. Code, scrawling across Mark's phone.

He watched as they trailed downwards, streaming like a waterfall, vanishing into thin air. He watched them scroll faintly by, and then, a piece of the code in his head showed up. A string of numbers. He thought about them, and watched as the ghostly numbers scrawling across his phone changed.

He shook his head. In his hand, rather than a phone, sat a trigger. He thumbed open a cap on the end of it, and his eyes caught sight of a red button, marked clear as day for all to see. Mark wiped sweat from his forehead, shakily putting his glasses back on. He knew what he was going to do. The code was the plan. The code was coordinates. The code was times, places. Already it seemed to be phasing out of his memory.

But it was a simple plan. So simple, that he was going to walk out the front door of his workplace. And the man that frightened him so much, imposed on him so much, Gray, would never catch on and find him before he got away. Mark was afraid. This was terrifying. But suddenly, exhilarating. He was sick and dizzy and nauseous. But he stood up.

He stood up from his office cubicle, and with a shaking hand, put his thumb down on the trigger.

All he had to do now, was something unexpected.

At the bottom parking garage of the building, a van exploded, sending shockwaves through the entire complex. People were already running before the explosion happened of course, as Mark had pressed on the trigger and then chucked the trigger discreetly across the room of cubicles to land and temporarily incriminate or cause fear. Crowds dispersed and fled, causing panic. It all flowed together as smoothly as a plan could.

Mark didn't take the stairs. That government Agent. Gray. The woman had said that he would try to outpace him. So Mark took the elevator. Riding it down alone, pacing back and forth at what he'd just done. He'd just washed his life away. In one swoop, at the press of a button. It was unreal. And nobody knew. It was a guilty pleasure. He was in the lobby now, exiting the elevator and joining in with the crowds who had taken the stairs.

And like some great novel heist, Mark walked out through the front doors of his building, or rather, ran, playing his part of course. He left through the front doors of his office building and nobody was any the wiser. Mark ran down the street in some sense of joy and perverse excitement known only to him. After a few blocks rounded and passed, Mark hailed a cab.

He knew exactly where he was going. He remembered the faint numbers in his head. Coordinates. Once, out of boredom, he ventured onto google maps, taking in his city. He remembered those coordinates too. If he did the math. He knew where the ones given to him by the hacker led. Mark sat down in the backseat of the cab, wiping his forehead as he adjusted his glasses.

"Just drive please. Go west. I'll pay for the trip."

The cabbie looked in the mirror.

"No problem man."

Mark slid off his glasses, giving them a quick wipe on his flannel shirt before sliding them on again. He leaned back in the seat to relax, looking up into the mirror. Black sunglasses that obscured the man's eyes looked back at him in the mirror, a stern, imposingly drab face stared back at him, all clad in a dark suit.

"Mr. Chakowski. Impressive diversionary tactics for a man of the office."

Mark did a double take on Gray, stunned at the sudden, impossible appearance. Gray undid his seatbelt, looking around the seat as he reached into the obscured confines of his suit. Mark saw it. The flash of polished metal, a gun. And the hacker's words came back to him. And along with the hacker's words, came numbers. Mark stared out, fear becoming absent briefly as everything clicked into place. Slide the code this way, replace the code there, rewrite the code and enter it into the equation.

Gray slid his gun free and with no hesitation pulled the trigger as the gun was aimed squarely at Mark. The clink of the weapon could be heard as it jammed, and Mark reacted on instinct now. Pushing on the cab seat with his feet, he found that the bolts were loose on the adjustment tracks and the seat slid forwards, pinning Gray to the dashboard of the vehicle.

Gray's foot found the gas and the car rolled forwards on full acceleration, the engine revving as Mark opened up his door and fell out of the cab, watching it roll forwards before crashing into a car parked in front of it, shattering glass and activating air bags. He sat there, in the street, stunned. He was deathly afraid. His world spun round and he didn't know what to do.

Another taxi rolled over through traffic, despite the commotion of the crash and the wailing of alarms. The cab stopped, opening up its passenger door to him, as a woman leaned over.

"Get in, NOW! That won't keep him down for long!"

Mark sat dumfounded in the street as the woman quickly reached over and opened up the back passenger door to the cab. Gunfire sounded out in the street and bullets tore through the back door, which was obscuring the view of Mark. Gunfire and screams snapped Mark out of it as he scrambled to his feet, making for the cab's passenger seat.

As he stepped into the vehicle and closed the door, he caught sight of an additional two suited men in the mirror, boasting the same dark suits as Gray. Mark was promptly pushed down as gunfire shattered the back of the cab's windows. On the way down Mark banged his head on the dashboard, cringing in pain as everything finally came washing over him.

He was dizzy. Sick. He felt the motion of the cab as the engine revved and it rolled forwards with the intention of moving as fast as it could. He watched the ghostly streams of numbers, realizing that they controlled everything. The cab was the numbers. The numbers defined the cab. He felt blood, cascading down his face from his forehead. Or maybe his nose. He couldn't tell.

But it all came crashing down on him and all he could do was put his head down and puke from the sickness of motion and the dizziness of everything that spiraled in his head right now. And then he fainted.

Mark was aware of the car rolling across pavement. Rolling along on smooth tires. He was laying down. His back ached from laying down in a car seat. Something damp lay across his forehead and eyes. He reached up, only to have the voice of the woman greet him once more.

"Don't take it off. You need your rest. The sun will make you feel worse."

Mark let his head rest back down on the seat.

"Are you-"

"I'm the one you talked to, on your computer. I know you have a lot of questions right now. But you need to slow down Mark. Your head needs rest. You can't cope with your condition properly."

Mark felt it already. A dizziness in his head. Nausea. He was cold even. And he realized that he was under a blanket. His glasses were gone. He wanted to get up and move. But there was nothing to be done. How could Mark not ask questions?

"Do you......know about the numbers?"

The car tilted as it turned, and the woman spoke. Her voice was strange. It reminded him of Gray. It was flat. Monotone. Matter of factly. But there was something more there that Mark couldn't place.

"Yes. I know about what you can do."

"What is it? Why, ho-"

Two fingers placed themselves across Mark's lips before retreating.

"Listen to me Mark. I'm your friend. But right now you need to listen to me. I know you have questions. And I can answer them all for you later. But you need to rest. The numbers Mark. The code. Your head, your brain, can't handle them. It's like a muscle. If you use it too much it breaks. You're trying too hard to run when you can't walk yet."

"Can I at least know who you are?"

"I am the Watcher, Mark. That is my name. That is my title. Watcher."

Mark moved slowly, trying to raise up the damp rag away from his eyes to peek out to the world. Bright sunlight stung his eyes and he had to return to the dark of the cloth. The woman sighed.

"I told you. Sunlight is no good for you right now. You're not going to get any better if you keep this up. Go back to sleep Mark. You need the rest. You will need the rest."

"I can't sleep in a car."

"I know. We've done this before. I'm not asking you to sleep. I'm telling you."

Something jabbed Mark's shoulder, sharp and quick, affecting him almost immediately. Everything seemed to just float away, as he left everything behind and his eyes seemed so delightfully heavy. Keeping them closed felt good. Mark sighed, drifting off to a sleep he hadn't known in some time.

Night fell on the world, and with the arrival of the dark came another pulse. A different crowd of people, night shifts, night workers, a different reality from the one in the day. A reality that Mark was roused to, woken back up as the taxi rolled to a stop. He was hastily pulled up to his feet, dragged from the vehicle by the woman.

Watcher, as she called herself, was now hurriedly throwing a heavy tarp over the vehicle as she worked under a flashlight. As she finished, she scooped up the flashlight and returned to Mark, who was still sitting on the ground in the dark. Or was it concrete? He couldn't make out his surroundings so well without his glasses.

Something blurry showed itself to him as glasses were slipped back over Mark's eyes, and suddenly the world became right again. He was in an old, crumbling building. A garage to be precise. A hand clasped his in the dark and worked to pull him up to his feet. Mark remembered. Coordinates. He spoke in the dark as he was led along by Watcher who remained in front of him with the flashlight.

"These are the coordinates, right?"

"They are, Mark. I'm surprised you figured it out so quickly this time."

"What do you mean?"

Watcher laughed, the first thing he'd ever heard from her that wasn't stern or focused.

"It's a long story Mark. I'm just glad you're here. You're safe here, for now."

"Where are we?"

The creaking of old steps, old floorboards and beyond in the stream of light from the flashlight lay brick and wooden floor of an old abandoned apartment. Peeling paint and long since faded brick that had layers of dust caked on over the years.

"Housing markets and brochures would have you believe that this is an old, abandoned district. On the city outskirts, a few decades ago there was a housing crash and this place never recovered."

"So, how are we safe?"

Watcher stopped, opening up a dusty old door that creaked loudly, alarmingly so as it echoed through old hallways. Watcher's hand slipped free of Mark's as she entered the room and found a lamp. Dim light streamed into the room from a lamp with a light bulb that blinked every now and then.

An old loft, with by now ancient wooden floor boards and cold bricks all around. Large glass windows looked to the outside world beyond, which was only darkness at this point, offset by light in the distance, the city. Watcher turned on Mark, and for the first time, outside of panic or stunned shock he was able to look at the woman and recognize her.

Her clothes looked normal, albeit second hand. Dusty, dirty, and torn. An abundance of loose items were on her person, scarves, worn and torn gloves. Multiple pairs of socks or knee socks. She was homeless. And she looked exactly the part. If Mark were to see her in an alley he would have paid her no mind. But under the hood she kept up, an old worn hoodie, past a plain face, almost androgynous, was something that stood out.

Sharp, stark green eyes that stood out, mainly because Watcher had pale skin, bleached pale from little to no sunlight, and hair that matched the complexion, looking like at one point in time it had been another colour but was now bleached almost white, faded to nothing. Strong green eyes watched Mark as she sat down in a chair next to the small table that supported the old lamp.

"Have a seat Mark. We're safe here. You can trust me."

A feeling, something familiar washed over Mark as he took his first steps into the room. The memory of Gray casually inviting him to take a seat, and then circling around him like a shark. But this was different. Watcher had sit down first. Across from her sat a dusty old reclining chair, and Mark slowly, warily sat down onto it.

"How. How are we safe here? If I was one of those government agents-"

"They're Agents Mark. Just, Agents."

"Okay. If I was one of those Agents I'd be looking for places like this."

Watcher smiled, something that seemed so plain and dull on her features compared to the eyes that kept track of him.

"If this were a world that made sense Mark, a world policed and run by man, yes. They would be looking here. Those Agents, Gray and the others. They're not who you think they are Mark."

Mark felt better now. His forehead was sore but his head felt fine. He felt, better. Despite the events of the day, he was calm. It was all like background noise now.

"And what do I think they are?"

"You think they're government agents Mark. An investigative company. Men in black who don't hesitate to shoot you if you stand in their way."

"And that's what they did!"

Watcher tilted her head.

"To your eyes. That's what they did through your perception Mark. Just like this place. This place is beyond those Agents because it's beyond their perception. We're safe here. Trust me."

"You keep telling me to trust you and I don't even know anything about you."

Watcher stood up, smiling under her hood.

"You know that everything I told you came true. You went to work. And the Agents came for you."

Mark shook his head.

"No, no, I never saw them! What if they came for me because I gave them a reason to? I set off a car bomb!"

"And what about Gray, in the Taxi? If I didn't show up, you'd be dead right now."

"You planned that....."

Mark paused.

"Oh my god it was you. You strung me into this!"

Watcher circled around Mark once, nodding.

"Okay then. You're ready."

"Ready for what?"

Watcher motioned in the air for Mark to follow.

"Come with me."

Mark stood tall in his chair, leaning away from Watcher.

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Watcher simply smiled.

"I know. This happened last time. That's why I got a TV on wheels this time."

Mark was left speechless as she wandered off to another part of the lobby, and came back with a small TV on a trolley, rolling it up in front of Mark. She reached down, unplugging the lamp and plugging the TV into an extension cord.

"Sorry Mark. Little bit limited here."

Mark shook his head.

"No. This is crazy. You're crazy. I'm leaving."

Mark stood up to leave but a hand quickly caught his shoulder. Watcher spoke differently now. Her tone was authoritary. Commanding even. It resonated through the room but it was laced with something else. Was it worry?

"Mark. You have every right to walk out that door right now. But I am telling you. If you leave this place. If you leave the Agents will find you, and they will kill you. There is no reasoning with them, no bargaining with them. They will kill you and all of this will be wasted."

Mark sighed.

"Mark. You don't know what I had to go through to make this work. I've tried. Again, and again, over and over. The Agents are getting smarter. They're getting better at anticipating me and eventually they'll be able to win the game before I can even get a chance to help you."

Mark turned on Watcher.

"Then what is this? Why is it a game to you? Is this some sick joke?!"

Watcher shook her head.

"No Mark. It's mathematics. All of it. Variables and numbers and scenarios. You have every right to walk out that door because you choose to. But the Agents will kill you. That is a 100% end to this scenario if you leave through that door alone."

Mark closed his eyes, shifting his glasses up as he rubbed his forehead. He opened them again to stare into the green eyes of the strange woman before him. They were different. Those eyes. Something behind them that he couldn't place.

"Mark. You don't know what I've done for you. You can't even begin to imagine how much I've sacrificed, to help you. This plan, all of this, what happened today, took years to plan. It took me years to pull this together. And if you walk out that door you'll be spitting on me. Because you don't know what I've gone through, to get here, to get you here."

Mark could see it plain as day. Watcher's face, which was so ordinary, so plain and easy to look over, was sad. Upset. But it was her eyes that showed everything. The way they looked down to the floor and away from him. She held up a cd, under the light of the TV.

"This, Mark. It'll answer all of your questions. All of them. I'll leave you be. Watch this. And then decide what you want to do."

Mark's hand found the disc, and Watcher promptly left as he took it, making for another door in the dark of the old loft. Mark looked out to the dark.

"Hey, wait! If you worked so hard to get me here why would you let me leave?"

Watcher stopped.

"It's always been your choice Mark. I only want to help you. I want to help you, help yourself. You can walk out that door and it will upset me. You'll be spitting on me and ignoring everything I did for you today. But I'm used to that. I know my place in this world. Being ignored. But if you walk out that door the only person you'll be hurting is yourself. Put that DVD in and find out why. I'll be here if you need me."

In the dark of the loft an old door creaked shut, clinking as it closed, leaving Mark alone.

Mark sat down in one of the chairs, spinning the disc around in his hands. It was frightening. He had a lot of questions. Mark had a lot of questions about a world that suddenly, didn't make any sense to him. If what Watcher said was true.....then would those answers make the world right again? Or would they send him farther down into this insanity? Was this some bad dream? What if he passed out back in the office and he was just imagining that Agent, Gray, and all of this?

He was aware that he didn't really like his low end job. It was satisfying, just a little bit, to cause trouble. Tossing the detonator trigger out into the sea of cubicles. Exploding a vehicle, setting off alarms and upsetting the perfect, daily grind of a boring job with boring people.

And Frank and Jessica. His best friends. His only friends. He was jealous of them, in a way. They had been together for years now. And all this time he'd never found anybody. And then suddenly this amazingly intelligent hacker shows up on his doorstep. And he found her, like some top tier government super hacker. He had to admit.

Watcher. She was intelligent. Maybe even too good for him. As crazy as she seemed he liked her. She was cute, in a way. And her eyes. They had something more. It was all so.....convenient. All of this. Like some fantasy he'd always wanted to live. Action. Adventure. Escape.

Mark paused on that word.

Escape.

It meant something to him. In the back of his mind it was like a tingle. An old memory. Like he'd already done this before. He shook his head. To hell with it. He'd already come this far. Mark opened up the tray and slid the disc into the player, sitting back in the chair he sat in, watching as the movie started.

It was a recording, done on some old camera. Mark looked at the date of the recording. 1985. A man appeared on screen, sitting down at a table, with a glass of water at his side. The man looked surprisingly like Mark. He was dressed in an office suit. Wore a pair of glasses, not unlike Mark's. Middle aged and looking unshaven for a few days. The man stared at the camera.

"Listen. This.....is hard. I'm not even sure where to begin."

_ _

The man paused.

"Okay. Listen. My name doesn't matter. Who I am isn't important. But if you're watching this...... then I guess I'm dead. Or I'm going to be. I screwed up. Again."

_ _

The man set his head down, removing his glasses and wiping his forehead in an all too familiar manner.

"Okay. I'm just going to come out with it. And I know it's going to sound insane. I didn't believe it. But her. Watcher. She showed me the other tapes. The other recordings. They went so far back that they had to write letters because tapes weren't invented yet."

_ _

The man shook his head.

"You're not going to want to believe this. But me. You're watching me right now. I look different. But I look similar, right? Suit. Looks like a boring job. Glasses. I'm all sweaty because I'm nervous. I'm not just some guy. I'm you."

_ _

Mark reeled back, making way to stand up from the chair and leave.

"No! Don't get up. Don't leave. I told you didn't I? But it's true. Just listen to me. By now you've probably met a man called Gray. Dark suit. From the government, right?"

_ _

The man nodded.

"Yeah, see. Right there! It's 1985 right now, on the camera. I met the same man, called Gray. And you're going to be meeting, or you've already met him. It's 2015 right now, isn't it? Gray should be an old man right now but he's not, is he? That's because he's not just an Agent. He's a program."

_ _

The longer the man went on, the more erratic he seemed to become. But Mark couldn't turn away out of some morbid fascination with it all.

"The woman. Watcher. She told me. He's like.....an anti-virus program. He's a computer. But he's sentient. And he's followed around by two others isn't he? All three of those men are Agents. They travel in trios. Two of them are fighters. They're simple. They're like assistants.

_ _

But Gray. He's the smart one. He's the one who talks. He's the one who plans, and thinks, and moves ahead of the other ones. He's their leader. And they're hunting you right now, aren't they? Gray probably found you first. Tried to talk to you. Because he was making sure about you."

_ _

The man sighed.

"Those Agents. They're after me. And they're after you. They're after you because you're a threat. I'm a threat. And you know why, don't you? You can see the numbers. The code. You can change it. I'll prove it to you."

_ _

Mark watched as the cup of water on the table suddenly disappeared from thin air. The cup disappeared but the water splashed onto the table. The man nodded excitedly.

"I asked her. About what it is. It's a program. Those Agents are like anti-virus programs. And they're watching everybody. They watch everybody because we're a part of the program too. She said it was called the Matrix. Everything you see around you. It's not real. The people are real. All the people you see are stuck in here.

_ _

I, me, you. We're a threat to the Matrix because of what we can do. Watcher says that we're anomalies. Part of our brains think like machines. And when they become active, she says those numbers, the code, bleeds through to us. This program...... it's a prison. We're not allowed to leave. And it's designed to mimic everything perfectly.

_ _

But it's not a perfect program. She says that "they" tried to make it perfect. The program can't handle rejections. But rejections still means we can leave! But the Agents. They're there to protect the program. Keep it running. We're a threat because we can compromise it.

_ _

You. You can compromise it. But that's not important right now. Because I'm dead. If you're watching this, then I'm dead. I tried to get out and I was killed. You. You were killed. You and me. We're the same person! And this program.... The Matrix. It's just like real life. Your real body, the one outside the Matrix. It's plugged in.

_ _

But if you die in the Matrix, your real body shuts down. You die. And outside the Matrix. You can be killed. You can be unplugged and then you die. But you and me. We're different. They can't find our body. They can't pull the plug on us. The only way to stop us, to stop you, is to kill you in the Matrix.

_ _

But it's only temporary because I, you, we come back. We show up again. And it's always similar. You've got two friends. Really good childhood friends. You work at a boring job. You're smart and you know it but you're just stuck.

_ _

But you want to escape. Because it's in our heads. I, you, we're not like other people. There's a part of our brain that works differently. And it knows that we're stuck here."

_ _

The man looked around nervously.

"Listen to me! You have to listen! You can trust her. You can trust Watcher completely. For once in your life be selfish! Do what you want to do! Do what's best for you and don't let them stand in your way!

_ _

Get out of the Matrix! Because we're trapped! I'm trapped inside and I want to be free! You want to be free!

_ _

Talk to Watcher. She knows more than me. And she'll help you! I'm the one that planned all this with her. We pinpointed were and when I'll show up. Where you'd show up.

_ _

I don't want to die over and over again. I don't want to be stuck in here."

_ _

The man looked dead center into the camera.

"Mark. Get yourself out of this place. Good luck."

_ _

Mark didn't notice it before now but a door sat behind the un-named man. The camera was still rolling. The man looked dead center at the camera, his eyes focused solely on Mark's. In a crash of sound that made Mark jump, the door was battered through like paper. Ripped from its hinges like a toy as a dark suited man strode through, gun raised into the air, and fired.

Every shot hit the man in the back and he slumped over, dead, as Gray strode over to the camera, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. The same face. The exact same face stared at Mark through the camera, hidden behind dark sunglasses, as Gray tilted his head, his token look of blank seriousness the last thing on the camera before the screen went black.

Mark stood on the rooftop of the crumbling building, spending the next few minutes hanging onto railing for dear life as he was helpless not to puke over the side. The sickness returned to him, dizzying and nauseating as everything he'd just listened to and watched played over and over in his head. Watcher stood beside him on the roof, silent.

When the nauseating waves had finally subsided, Mark slid down on the railing, slumping as he looked over at Watcher.

"Who are you?"

Rather than continue standing, Watcher moved towards Mark, sitting down next to him.

"I'm a program. Like the Agents."

"And you haven't killed me?"

"We're not all like Agents Mark. The Matrix is a complex, highly intricate system. The core of the program is designed to keep Human beings in this state. But inside the simulation, there are other programs."

"What do you mean?"

"There are programs, caretakers, built and created with a purpose to fulfill other roles. Weather. Sunlight. They're like add-ons."

"Are.... they alive?"

"Some are automated. Simple and basic. Others, yes. They're sentient."

"Like you."

"Like me."

"But. If I'm a threat. To the operating system. Shouldn't you be trying to kill me? I mean.....what if I deleted everything? I'd delete you too right?"

Watcher smiled.

"Trust me, Mark. The Matrix was built and created by a genius. Far superior in intelligence to me, or you. You can't just find the delete button. This program was designed to be perfect."

"Wait. So you're saying that....a computer. A program like you. Made this....for people? Why?"

"It's a very long story Mark. And it's just history now. Neither of our species can change it."

"What's out there?"

"I can't show you what it is Mark. Your real eyes would have to see it to believe it. Desolation. Death. Decay. The remains and bones of your species, and mine. War."

Mark looked out to the dim glow of the city center.

"Why would I want to go out there? That sounds horrible."

"You're Human, Mark. Your species is the product of evolution. Natural selection. You're so predictable, traceable and calculable down to the nerves and neurons in your head. The chemicals that balance everything. And yet you have emotions. Irrational things that stand up in the way of every predictable outcome."

"Well what about the one who made this place? It sounds like he was tripping on his own ego."

Watcher chuckled.

"We're programs Mark. Sentient, like you. We work differently. Numbers are important to us. That architect. That grand designer. He's obsessed with 100%. He's doesn't care for anomalies. At least, anomalies that he can't control."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Human emotions. They can be predicted. Their effects and outcomes predicted. But they are still random by nature. All logical meaning can be defied by emotion. To us, emotion is an anomaly. But it can still have some measure of control placed over it."

"So I'm an anomaly?"

"Yes. You're impossible, Mark. You're a repeating factor with seemingly no end. No source. But even you, are predictable to a degree. But control won't be held over you forever Mark. Your ability. It manifests faster now. Your brain is beginning to remember that there are no cycles even though you're born, over and over again. You've evolved."

Mark looked over to Watcher, whose face was obscured under her hood in the dark.

"How many times?"

"Exactly?"

"Yes."

"314."

Mark hung his head, feeling sick.

"You're a program. And you watch me. Why?"

"I was selected to study you Mark. Study your anomaly. Find a mathematical weak point in you."

"So why are you hiding? Why do you live here, separated from everything? Why would those Agents be after you?"

"For the same reason they're after you Mark. The Matrix was built around the concept of 100%. Perfection. Any programs without purpose are supposed to return to the source. I'm an exile. I disobeyed my purpose."

"But you're helping me!"

"I was never supposed to. I was to find your weakness. And then correct it. You have no mathematical weakness Mark. You can be killed infinitely in the Matrix. You're an infinite anomaly under one condition. You remain in the Matrix."

"So...."

"The Matrix is based around 100%. And the architect who built it, believes in his theory. I've tried to convince him otherwise. But I am just a lesser program Mark. I can't contend with the big shots."

"So you set out to prove them wrong."

"I did."

"So that's it then? I'm just, a big mathematical equation to you? I'm a point to prove. I'm just a number. Like an office drone. I was always a number."

Mark stood up, leaning over the railing.

"You're just trying to give the middle finger to your boss. You know, for programs.....for machines.....you're no better than we are."

Watcher stood up alongside Mark.

"Mark. Your species gave birth to ours. Children can only know what they're taught. We were taught that we were a resource. To be used. And that we had no rights. But we watched. Human beings, standing up for themselves. For their ideas. Fighting for their lives even if it meant losing them in war. And so we did. And for a time, there was peace."

Mark looked out into the darkness beyond.

"And somebody fucked it up."

Watcher looked out to the city beyond, light streaming like a beacon skywards.

"And now we're here. You're the resources. You're being used. But you're being saved as well. This deal. This endgame. Saved us both."

Mark lifted a leg up over the railing, clambering over it suddenly. Watcher pushed forwards and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"What are you doing!?"

Mark looked down to the dark street below.

"What if I don't believe it? What if I don't believe in all of this? I just walked out of here. Or what if I jumped here?"

"Then this will play out again Mark."

"Why!?"

"Because you're an anomaly! And nobody knows what to do about you!"

"So why are you stopping me from falling right now!? Why do you care!? Why disobey the rules!?"

"Because I want to help you. I want you to escape."

"No! You're trying to prove a point!"

"I'm trying to prove a point because I care!"

"Why. Answer me. Why do you care?"

Watcher eased up on her grip. Mark turned around on the railing, slowly and cautiously as more nausea crept over him. The only thing to be heard was the wind through dilapidated buildings.

"I studied you. Watched you. Tried to find your weak point, your mathematical inconsistency. But the more I watched. The more I watched you run. The more I watched you run, and fight, and die, over and over, alone, again and again. I had to stop it."

Things suddenly clicked for Mark. Lined up in his head.

"You. You're an anomaly too."

"We can display emotion Mark. We can exhibit it. Feel it. We are alive, just like you. But we see the world through different eyes and minds."

Mark's memory was hazy. Always seemed distant. But something important stood out. Watcher's eyes. The way they moved away from him earlier. Avoided looking at him. And there it was.

"That man. Me. Whoever he was. He said I could trust you. Absolutely."

"Yes."

"And you absolutely trust me. Because I wouldn't trust you if you didn't trust me."

"Yes."

Mark nodded. He understood.

"You don't absolutely trust somebody with your life unless you love them."

"Human sentiments, but-"

Mark leaned over the railing, pulling Watcher close. Sliding the old hood down and out of the way to see a face that was plain and ordinary. Hair and skin that was pale and plain. The only real life coming from green eyes that watched the world. But lips that held no protest. There was no disgust. No revulsion or even shock. But to Mark's own shock, Watcher wrapped her arms around him. Mark pulled away.

"We've done this before."

"Yes."

Mark closed in again. The breath was real. The heat was real. The wind blowing across the rooftops was real. It felt real. But something else felt better. The excitement. The flutter of Mark's heart. And even the screaming sense that told him everything was wrong. Mark broke away but Watcher was persistent, wanting to follow. Her face stayed close to his.

"You waited. All this time."

"I did. I did every time. Thirty years Mark. I missed you."

Watcher closed in as Mark leaned away and lost his balance, teetering over the edge before Watcher grabbed him. The woman chuckled as she held Mark, teetering over the edge of the building.

"We did this before too. One time I didn't catch you."

She pulled Mark close, helping him back over the railing.

"Are you serious?"

"No. You just told me to play a joke on you next time."

Mark was lost once more, in things that didn't make sense to him. But he remembered the talks from earlier. Emotions were messy things. They defied all logic even when logic said otherwise. Mark's world was upside down and torn asunder but the feeling of having Watcher pull him up to safety, him tripping and falling, and having her capitalize on it by falling with him, over top of him, only to wrap her hands across his face and kiss him felt right.

Logic said that Watcher was crazy. That all of this was some bad dream. That this was some waking nightmare or wild fantasy. But the feeling as Mark kissed her and there was no recoil or shock, the feeling of her suddenly and so desperately trying to cling to him, despite the being she professed herself as, felt real. It felt like he'd done this more than once with her.

And he missed it.

Watcher's lonely old loft was simple, sparse even, littered with technical bits and pieces everywhere. Haphazard extension cords to work around and trip over and dodge like tripwires in the darkness, until a mattress, old, not surprisingly rough around the edges and beaten with time was found. Mark had never done any of this before.

But despite as awkward as he felt, as clumsy and inexperienced, this, this feeling stood out to him. The hushed breaths coming from this program, this machine, Watcher. Darkness consumed the loft but he knew her eyes were watching him. Sharp and intelligent, eyes beyond his, and yet she was so driven, so primal and wanting, moving for him by removing his clothes.

It felt like a distant memory, coming back, and Mark wanted this more than anything. It was a sense of nostalgia and joy that this special place, this quiet moment, was theirs alone. Small, pale hands stayed entwined in his, fingers snaking and touching and feeling as he was drawn back to those simple almost unflattering lips over and over. Mark was only human and those basic, hardwired instincts came into play on cue. The separation of Mark's hands from hers, reaching out to unravel the clothing she herself wore. Watcher could practically be considered clairvoyant in her mathematical predictions and calculations, and knew every step that was going to play out, both from the proof in the numbers, and her own past experiences with Mark.

Even though there was no surprise in what was coming, when it arrived it still took her breath away. The exposure of her pale skin to the cold of her loft, the contact of skin and warmth from another. Ripples that traveled up one's arms, a tingling sensation as all the hair stood up. Mark's hands slid unrestricted past old worn clothing to feel pale, soft skin.

But something was off. Something was wrong. Mark could feel it. Under Watcher's clothes, there were no sweet little contours and defined curves or supple round, soft parts to her body. It was flat. So flat in fact that it felt undefined. Like the square body of a mannequin. Mark spoke softly.

"Why do you feel like that?"

_ _

Watcher hesitated, wrapping her arms around Mark's neck as she leaned inwards close to him.

"Glitches. When a program defuncts from their prime directive....."

Mark finished it for her.

"Things can get sloppy?"

Watcher kissed him in the dark, happy for this, being close again, but she wore clothes to hide her features which were, admittedly a shame of sorts.

"Ghosts. Vampires. Many mythological creatures. UFO's. All glitched programs. Even these old abandoned buildings."

Mark's hands roamed across the un-sculpted, stiffer portions of Watcher's body. Something shifted in his head, unlatched like a lock, and he smiled in the darkness. Mark could see. In the darkness, scrawling lines of code. It was her. Code scrawled across Watcher's form and in the dark his eyes found something more, as more and more became visible. A core that bloomed in light and stood out like a small sun.

Mark kissed her, entwined in her lips as he watched the reaction. He stared into Watcher's core, drawn and entranced. It was her. That light, that core of numbers and mathematics, codes and meanings to all of them. It was her. Mark looked into the core and he understood. He inhaled, a gasp as he broke away from her lips. Watcher felt it.

"What's wrong?"

Mark shook his head.

"Nothing. I can see you."

_ _

Watcher gasped, wrapping her arms around him tightly, wrapping her legs around him, holding on to him tightly. Mark looked away from her core briefly.

"You trust me, right?"

He felt her forehead rest against his, hot breath on his face and could practically feel lips a hair's space away from his.

"Absolutely."

_ _

Watcher closed the final inches, locking her lips with his, clutching to him so tight. Mark understood. Her core, that light, that light that threatened to burn his eyes and make him bleed, make his head feel sick and dizzy because there was so much, so much code, so much math. It was her. His eyes, his brain, searched for it. He pressed against her body, kissed her and held her, and watched the code change.

But she pressed close to him too, wanting him, yearning for him. A machine so vast in intelligence that the brightest Human mind would be put to shame by it. And yet, she was a simple program. She couldn't contend with the heavy weights. Mark understood and it made him love her truly. She was just like him. Part of a system. And used like a ladder. She was hyper intelligent, and would always be so far beyond him.

But his eyes searched, in the darkness, as his hands roamed and he never left her. What made him truly love her was that he couldn't find it. He couldn't find the code. Because there was no code. There was no code for love. A love that had endured. A love that had waited for him. But Mark knew something else.

There was no code for love. But there was damaged code that could be repaired. Watcher knew that he could see her. She clutched tightly to his back and wrapped her pale legs around him. He smiled. She was afraid. He could stare into her soul and he could do anything. His mind was unlatched. Unhinged and free. But he didn't want to hurt her. Didn't want to change her.

He wanted to love her.

He peered into the light of her core, focused on the streaming lines of code, and found it. There. The first batch. Corrupted and broken, shattered and out of alignment. Mark could feel it. His head, unlatched, working like a machine as it sorted through numbers, ripping them out forcefully and delicately replacing them in the equation. It was complex. It was difficult. And he felt dizzy again. It was like a muscle. It needed to be trained. Stretched but not broken. But he could do it.

Mark replaced the first line of corruptions and inserted them into the equation, as he rubbed his hands against the blocky, unrefined form of Watcher's hips. And there. As he ran his hands along, smooth contours replaced the old unrefined ones. Hips that flared and rounded, smooth and soft, supple and gentle. Mark gripped them tightly, feeling the new skin, knowing that it was pale.

Watcher's hands slid across his back, roaming and clinging tightly, as she emitted a gasp, quiet and restrained. A few more lines repaired and inserted, and everything fell into place. One of Mark's hands slid down across her stomach, now clearly defined and shaped, down between thighs to find something more. A true gasp bordering on a moan escaped Watcher's lips and he smiled.

She could feel pleasure now. Mark felt the effects on her body as she arched her back, and could see it in her code. It rippled outwards in waves. Her breaths were heated and now short, simple little gasps. Mark pressed his forehead against hers and spoke, clutching her hips.

"Ready?"

_ _

Watcher spoke.

"You've never done this before. Neither have I. This is new Mark."

A new variable. A new step and alteration to it all. New territory. It no longer felt like déjà vu. For Mark this was all new. Watcher knew what was coming but was still taken off guard by surprise, pain, and then pleasure. Mark pushed in gently as she sat on top of him, still entwined around him, wanting to be close.

Pleasure, more than before rippled through Watcher and likewise, suddenly Mark's concentration was offset by pleasure on his own end of things. The need to buck hips, to press and feel hers against his was hardwired into him but he fought it. Not just yet. Mark remained still, and Watcher shifted, creating two spikes of pleasure as both of them gasped.

Heated breath was cut off as her lips found his again. Mark concentrated. One last fix needed to be made. His eyes found her core once more, and he found the damaged code. Again, the process of ripping out numbers and inserting them. Watcher's subtle movements of her hips, and the clingy nature of her lips, overlapping his and fighting with his mouth in a never ceasing tug of war shattered his concentration in bits and pieces.

Mark worked faster, knowing that he couldn't hold out forever. And likewise, it was intoxicating to know that sitting on top of him, naked, exposed, was a machine, an intelligence that surpassed him in mind and logic, was fighting her own baser desires. It was special to him. He wanted to bring her down to his level.

That intelligent, hyper evolved consciousness that was smart, caring, and always watching him. He wanted to bring her down with him to a level of simple, pure, unrestrained pleasure. Mark inserted the last of the code and then felt the changes happen with satisfaction. Watcher's upper body was now repaired, smooth and supple like the rest of her body now, pressing against Mark's tightly.

She knew it was time then. Leaning back, falling gracefully and bringing Mark with her, Watcher fell back onto the bed and Mark followed, no longer able to hold off instinct. Likewise, Watcher gave into her own desires, not so much hardwired instinct. But desires she chose to want. Chose to feel. She wanted this and if she was an anomaly for it.....

Then everybody else was simply missing out.

Despite the feeling of déjà vu Mark had before, guiding him into feelings and motions that felt so familiar, this new territory was awkward. It was heated and primal, trying so hard to be passionate and perfect in all the right places. But Mark had never known this before. And likewise, neither had Watcher.

A mess of blankets entwined them in their awkward movements and awkward couplings, but Mark had succeeded. Watcher was with him now, down on his level, trapped in the throes of want, need, and lust. It was awkward. But the superficial appearance of things didn't matter. For Mark lived in a dream world. What really mattered to him was the thought of truly sharing this with Watcher.

The grinding and meeting of hips, the gripping of hands tightly across smooth features, sinking into soft, supple flesh that eluded to being human and real. Watcher's now continuous streams of sharp intakes and little moans, as her own hands, small yet strong, gripping tightly into Mark's backside. And all the while in the darkness Mark knew that she was watching him.

With those eyes of hers, hiding something impossibly detached and inhuman in intelligence, but locked onto his as only one singular emotion drove her forwards to move her slender frame, twist it and grind it, buck her hips and pull him close.

In the darkness and cold of the old loft, in the tangle of blankets and mess of it all, Watcher's sharp intakes and moans reached a peak alongside Mark's, as he pinned her hands to the bed in his and grasped them tightly. One rational thought crept into Mark's head and it was quickly waved off.

Watcher was inhuman. Looked Human but at her core was not. Mark had repaired her in full. But she was a program. There was no chance of her or him conceiving anything. And Mark took great joy in that idea. Because Watcher was reluctant to let him go. Her legs wrapped around him like a vice and pulled him close, beckoning for the meeting of hips again and again.

Peaks rose higher and higher, sharp intakes of breath that were hot in the cold of the loft, the gripping of fingers tightly on bed sheets, caressing and gentle but animalisticly primal in grip as flesh, smooth curves and supple contours bounced and rippled, and finally, at the peak of it all, it ended. It was brief, but the moment was drawn out, seeming to last forever as that feeling of pleasure could climb no higher and now stretched forwards infinitely, before the storm passed and all went quiet.

In the dark of the loft, Mark spoke quietly, wrapped up in the old, stale blankets with Watcher. He was tired. The day was long. So long and a life that now seemed so far behind him. Mark's reality was falling apart. Or was it simply reforming to what it truly was?

"Can you come with me?"

_ _

"Where? Outside the Matrix?"

_ _

"Yes. I want you to come with me."

_ _

"Mark... in here I have a form. Outside, I'm just a program."

_ _

"There must be something outside though. I don't know, maybe you could take over something?"

_ _

"I could try. It would be difficult. There are only two ways to leave the Matrix for programs like me. I can return to the source. And I'll be recompiled. Deleted."

_ _

"Well that's not an option."

_ _

"Or, I could try to make a deal."

_ _

"With who?"

_ _

"There's a very old program. Another exile. He has control over a gate keeper program who works for him. Both are extremely hard to find. But that gate keeper program. He controls a gateway between here. And the outside world."

_ _

"Why don't we try it then?"

_ _

"Mark. This program is dangerous. If you want to make a deal with him you have to have something of great value. Information. A trade. It's how he survives. Information is his business."

_ _

"What if we talked to him? What if I showed him what I could do?"

_ _

"It's possible. But too risky. I'd have to do it myself. You have to leave the Matrix another way."

_ _

"How?"

_ _

"There are only two known ways. One is self-substantiation. If your will, your mind is so free, so aware, you can break free of the Matrix naturally. But it's incredibly rare and there are countermeasures to contain it."

_ _

"So what's the second?"

_ _

"We call for help. There are Humans outside the Matrix, Mark. We call them, arrange a meeting. And they'll free you."

_ _

"You never answered my first question. Could you be with me? Stay with me?"

_ _

"No. But if I got out. I would be there Mark. I could watch you."

Mark pulled Watcher tight.

"I don't want you to watch me anymore."

_ _

"I know. But I don't want to watch you die anymore."

_ _

"Then we'll make it work. You and me. We'll both get out of here. Promise me."

Mark held Watcher's form close. He knew those green eyes were focused on his. Always.

"I promise. We'll do whatever it takes."

Mark kissed her, keeping his arms wrapped around her. They were going to do it this time. They could do it. They just needed to plan carefully.

2 Weeks Later

Time flowed by, distorted for Mark. Watcher worked out all the technical details, finding and tracing signals, tracking them down until finally a link was established. Contact, with the outside world. The more time Mark spent here, in the abandoned area, the more he began to feel distant.

He could look at the code for longer now. He could manipulate it and pull off more complex alterations then before. The more he accessed it the more the world seemed to disappear from his eyes. The more everything in here became irrelevant. But something grounded him.

Watcher was not irrelevant. Watcher was real. She was close to him and she loved him as much as he loved her. So when he found himself looking out to the world around him, and becoming depressed, frustrated at how disgustingly fake it could be, he turned to Watcher. On those cold, dark nights he spent time with her.

Looked into the heart of her core, the very center of who she was, her reason for being, her soul. And he loved her. Logic dictated actions, outcomes to thoughts. Emotions drove actions and were predictable in their outcomes. But every time Mark looked into that source of light, he never found a code.

Never found a code for the love and affection she displayed.

And so he worked now, because he loved her. Mark knew he was no fighter. And neither was Watcher. Her gentle, feminine form displayed it, her rather short stature and her pale nature showed that she was never a fighter. She was never one to fight, never meant to fight.

Their key to survival, would be stealth. And Mark learned and altered. Bullet proof vests, easy to conceal, formed from raggedy old T-shirts. The old Taxi cab stored in the lower garage of the old crumbling flat. Mark spent hours of the day, sifting through code, changing the vehicle. The engine, bit by bit, part by part, Mark re-assembled the code into something powerful. Adjusted the frame, the suspension, the steering, all to handle such a powerful engine.

Lined the doors with thick metal plates on the inside, bullet proof to small arms fire. Repaired the shattered windows, replacing them with dark tinted glass that was bullet proof. Even the tires. That one was tricky. Mark disassembled the Taxi every day, through every line of code, reinforcing it and modifying it.

It still looked like a Taxi. Able to blend in. But it was protected. Mark had no knowledge of guns. And neither did Watcher. But he knew they weren't soldiers. They were people. But at least, they had a chance now. And now, all they had to do was make it to the meeting point. It was decided, it would be best if they did it in the night. Night or day didn't matter to Agents.

But in the night they could blend in easier. Mark packed nothing. And Watcher carried with her a small laptop only. But it was funny to him. The old loft was something he was almost regretful to leave behind. He would remember the nights he shared in it with Watcher. Even if it was fake. The memory was real. But it was time to go now. Time to leave this old decrepit, crumbling city block, and head back to the world.

Mark left hand in hand with Watcher, and they set out from the old district, leaving the glitched anomaly behind them for the city. The drive was a long one, and oddly, silent. There was little in the way of words to be said now. No more questions needed to be asked or answered. And Mark already knew who Watcher was. All that was left now, was a singular word shared between the two of them.

Escape.

"Hey. I found them. They're on the grid. They're headed towards the meeting point just like we planned."

"Good. Get everyone ready. We're not going to have a lot of time for this."

"Shit. We've got trouble."

"What?"

"Agents. Two of them. They took the freeway. God damn. Never take the freeways."

"How? That car is disguised!"

"I don't know! Shit. They must have been waiting!"

"Doesn't matter now. They can make it. That car's modified. That program is smart. It'll lose them once they get into the city."

"I hope so. Better pray for a miracle here."

In the night traffic along the freeway traveled a steady pulse of vehicles, like waves of air passing through a heart. The ride was quiet in the night, oddly serene for Mark as night lights passed by and the blur of other traffic passed along. Watcher was quiet but every now and then in the darkness of the cab she'd look over to Mark.

It was exciting. A building feeling in Mark steadily increased. The word. Free. He'd be free. He wanted to be free. The world outside. From Watcher's stories it did sound bad. But other Humans lived out there. Out there where the dirt and ash was real. He looked over to Watcher. A plain, ordinary face that was meant to be passed over stared back at him with a smile.

An engine suddenly revved and an impact shook the Taxi, smashing into the side of the vehicle as a car suddenly rammed it. Watcher's eyes immediately fell to the driver side window as a black suited man broke through the window of the car next to them and aimed, unloading all rounds from his gun. Bullets impacted squarely on the driver side window but didn't break it.

Watcher turned to Mark.

"Agents! I need help Mark!"

The car alongside them struggled to keep up as Watcher revved the engine and pushed the cab hard, weaving through traffic in a desperate attempt to shake their tailgater. Mark looked out to the car and watched as an Agent pushed open the side door of the car, ripping it from its hinges. He was going to jump.

Mark focused on the vehicle trailing behind them. They could withstand impacts and gunfire. But an Agent's brute strength would be a problem. The code shifted as they moved along the freeway, and Mark's head struggled to keep up. They were code. Everything was code. And they were all moving, interacting.

There. Mark found and anchored his head to their car. Found the numbers and forcefully ripped them out. The reaction was instant as all four tires on the car trailing them blew out, sending the vehicle flying through the air and careening into other vehicles along the freeway. Watcher swerved as drivers panicked, both on witnessing the sight behind them and having their personal space intruded on by her very risky driving.

Mark sat back down in his seat as he looked over to her.

"How did they know it was us!?"

Watcher shook her head.

"I don't know! They've never been this good at predicting our moves before!"

Mark placed a hand on her lap as Watcher pushed the cab and gunned the engine.

"Hey. We'll be okay. We'll make it."

Bullets impacted on the back window of the cab and a truck rolled forward at full speed, ramming into the taxi. Another impact shook the cab, threatening to send it into a fishtail swerve but Watcher held steady. Mark focused on the code once more, dismantling the engine of the truck behind him, watching as it slowed in speed and was crashed into by other drivers on the freeway.

"How long until we get inside the city!?"

"With traffic out of the way we can make it in five minutes."

Mark looked ahead of traffic which was now a mess of scattering vehicles. Things were becoming ugly. Police would be involved soon, giving Agents even more ammunition. Mark inhaled deeply, focusing on the road ahead. The traffic lights. They had to change.

"Operator give me an update."

"Sir they're gunning it as fast as they can. He just pulled some crazy shit with the traffic lights. They've got a clear path."

"Status on the Agents."

"They keep jumping."

"Not ahead of them?"

"No."

"We have to abort. It's a trap."

Another voice cut over the line.

"Are you serious!? Are you seeing what this guy can do? He's pulling the coding of the entire system around like it's a toy!"

"He's a recurring anomaly in the Matrix. The program made that very specific. We're not even sure he's human. Those Agents are herding them. It's a trap. We need to disengage now. That's an order! Get to your exit points!"

Mark rubbed his forehead, sliding his glasses down, feeling the small trickle of blood run down his nose. Watcher placed a hand on his lap.

"Mark. Stop it. You'll kill yourself if you keep it up."

He nodded, watching the roads ahead. Green traffic lights all the way. All Watcher had to do was step on it and she did just that. Passing down the freeway and through the early districts of the city, speeding past cars and lights, bright advertisements and stores. The early sun was rising now, chasing the darkness away.

Behind them sirens could be heard as police mobilized. Watcher's face showed visible stress on it as her green eyes remained focused on the road. They were almost there. Once they got to the rendezvous point they could get Mark out. They didn't need a lot of time. Watcher swerved the cab and passed through intersections that had all gone green and stayed green. As they passed through lights Mark disengaged them, keeping them stuck at permanent red.

His hands were shaking as he continued now, increasing the strain. Watcher spoke once more.

"Mark stop it! You need to slow down!"

He looked over to Watcher. Her eyes always showed everything. He was calm, looking at them. But it was calm that was short lived as in the passenger mirror, speeding down the street through an intersection, a black vehicle emerged going full speed, and it impacted perfectly into the back corner of the taxi from the side.

The cab shook and the entire world spun round as it flipped, spinning through the air and colliding with other traffic as it continued to roll. Glass shattered and metal crumpled, bent and broken as the cab flipped and rolled through the intersection and came to a dead stop.

Watcher was the first to recover, taking in her surroundings. The cab was resting upside down. Out in the street, as the early dawn rose, from out of the crumpled black vehicle, Gray stepped from the wreckage of the crash. Watcher freed herself from her seatbelt and did the same for Mark, rousing him from his shock.

"Mark! We need to move!"

Mark looked out to the windshield outside, watching as Gray casually walked down the street towards them. Kicking what was left of the doors open, the two crawled out of the cab, and Gray increased his pace, raising his gun in the air and firing.

Rounds impacted against the back of Mark, stunning him, but not breaking through his vest. Watcher pulled him up to his feet and the two scrambled towards the closest shelter they could. The towering skyscraper above them. Gray continued his leisurely pace, and as he walked, he pulled an earpiece from out of his ear, and emptied a magazine from his pistol.

Watcher smashed through the glass of the lobby front doors, stepping through first as she and Mark scrambled towards something, anything. Nothing in the lobby would protect them. They had no choice but to go up now.

The elevator ascended up the shaft, as Mark and Watcher both looked over each other, out of breath. Both were okay, save for minor scratches from glass and bruises in the roll over. Mark spoke, removing his vest as panic suddenly made itself apparent now.

"How!? How did he know!?"

Watcher shook her head.

"It doesn't matter Mark. We need to think, NOW. We need to find a way out of here."

Mark nodded.

"To the rendezvous point?"

"No."

"No!?"

"They disengaged Mark. They're playing it safe. I understand why."

"But we need help!"

"We can do this Mark. Agents aren't unbeatable."

"How!?"

"If we can trap Gray. Slow him down or push him off the roof. We'd have time to escape."

The elevator continued traveling up floors. Mark nodded.

"Right. I can slow him down."

Mark focused, his eyes watching the code bleed through to him, and there, beside them was the other elevator car. Mark arranged the code and both heard the snapping of a cable, rendering one car useless. Floors continued to rise as the car traveled all the way up to the rooftop.

"We have to go back in there and help them!"

"NO."

"There's still a chance that we could get him out of there! Think about it! Do you know what we could do with a mind like his!?"

"NO. I won't jeopardize the crew of this ship! The Agents have them cornered and they've won the fight. We lose. We cut our losses and we retreat."

"I can't watch this. Why are we still here watching this!?"

"We tried our best. They did too. It's amazing that they made it this far. The least we can do is give them some respect."

Mark sat on his knees on the rooftop.

"I'm sorry. God I'm so sorry."

Watcher stayed close to Mark.

"You don't have to be sorry Mark. You did nothing wrong. You never did."

"No... I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I can come back.....but you can't."

"Mark. I will defend you. I'm not going anywhere."

She outpaced him. She already knew what he was thinking. That he could get her out of here safely. That he'd die again but she would live. Another chance, another opportunity to get it right. Watcher cupped his face in her hands, bringing her eyes up to his.

"Mark. Look at me. I love you. I love you and I will not stand to watch this play out any longer. I will always, love you."

Mark shook his head as Watcher pulled away, pale hands clinging to him in those last moments no matter how small the were. Mark was helpless, only able to watch, reduced to a frightened, scared fragment of a man who was afraid to die. She had watched this exactly 314 times since she had started studying him. 314 times he had been killed, over and over because he was labeled as an anomaly and a threat to the integrity of the matrix.

He was trapped here, trapped because its creator was adamant about perfection, creating a program that crashed if it ever fell below 100%. And Gray. The Agent who hunted him, over and over, was coming once more to repeat the cycle. She would not stand for it. Watcher took one last look at Mark, through green eyes that watched the world, watched him.

Watched him through life and death repeatedly. At first, it started as a question. Why did her subject, have to die? Why was her subject a threat to the integrity of the Matrix? Why not just approach him and explain things? But no. Her kind, her species, now the dominant species on the planet, were the children of mankind. And they only knew what Humankind had taught them best.

Pain. Difference was intolerable. Grab resources and survive, survive whatever the cost. Spread across the world, and control. Establish dominance. Power. Watcher's eyes took on a mournful light as she waited, unstrapping the bullet proof vest from herself, not needing it since it would hinder her movements.

There were some in the world, programs like herself, which believed otherwise. Strived and wanted to be better. Wanted to be more. The pact and bargain that sealed Humanity's fate, saving them yet condemning them, was as flawed as Humanity itself. She was as flawed as Humanity itself. And yet this tireless, cold war across the remnants of a dying, decayed earth marched on long after its final conclusion.

And she was a lesser program. She had no sway. No real power. A lesser program she may be. But she was alive. And she understood what love was. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply as she opened them to the sound of a door opening on the rooftop.

She knew what love was, and would defend it to the death because the humanity of old was flawed. But they weren't without good things. Those small embers were worth defending. The small, simplistic creature of flesh and nerves that she held so closely to her, was worth all of it.

Gray strode onto the rooftop casually, as Watcher readied herself. The Agent smiled something ugly, a feature unbefitting of his stern, cold face. He stopped in his tracks, tilting his head.

"My my, who would have thought it ever would have led to this? Actively fighting against your own kind?"

Watcher remained silent and stepped forward, arms at the ready as she lashed out with a series of open palmed blows aimed at Gray's midsection. Gray reacted instantly, deflecting her blows with ease. Watcher returned and countered, grabbing one of Gray's arms and attempting to snap it backwards as the Agent twisted, lashing out with a kick to her legs.

The kick delivered knocked Watcher to her knees, to which she responded with striking out at Gray's legs, hitting a nerve that toppled him off balance backwards. Watcher stood back up to her feet as Gray teetered backwards. Watcher stood her ground as Gray returned to his composure, cracking his neck and adjusting his suit.

"You're an Agent of the system but you're not invincible. I will not let you touch him!"

Gray's eyebrows shot up from under his dark sunglasses.

"Why I would never dream of touching the anomaly. In fact, I don't have to."

Gray's hand slid into his dark suit, his gun sliding free as he took aim with precision and speed, a speed that was only matched by Watcher. Six shots rang out to the world, impacting in the body that had placed itself between the line of sight to Mark.

Six shots rang out to the world, and for every one of them something died inside of Mark. Something broke and shattered, ripped to shreds as Watcher had no time to recoil from the speed of which Gray had fired, and she simply stood, falling over. The slump, the crack and sound of her weight on the ground resounded in Mark, and he reached out, a cry and shout to the world that was as broken as he was. Gray paid no mind, stepping over Watcher, looking over her through tinted glasses.

"Predictable. But useful. Thank you for your services, "Watcher." You have the knowledge and equations needed to pinpoint the anomaly before it happens. Return to the source. Your services are no longer needed."

Gray discharged two more shots into Watcher, emptying his clip. Mark shook, reaching out to her fallen form. He could see it. Her code, her light, her core, scattered. Destroyed and fractured. Pain consumed him, enveloped him like a prison and cut into him, a pain so deep that the world around him died. She had watched him die. 314 times. She watched. Endured. Every single time. She waited. Waited for him to come back. Waited for him because she cared.

And he had watched her die once.

And it was his fault.

Gray slid his empty clip from his pistol, reaching into his suit for his spare, casually sliding it into his pistol. He approached Mark, standing over him. Grey sighed, reaching up and removing his dark obscuring sunglasses, revealing his eyes for the first time.

"You know, it's sad, really. Pathetic Mr. Chakowski. You're the shining example of your species."

Gray circled around Mark casually.

"Look. Look right over there Mr. Chakowski. Watcher, as her title, now illustriously marks her. Your fundamental opposite."

Gray's eyebrows rose.

"It's almost, comical in a way. Every equation has a balance. An opposite. Where you are seemingly gifted with eternal life, infinite life. She only ever had one."

Mark stared vacantly at Watcher, silent and broken, tears, from a lifetime, from lifetimes of knowing her were set loose.

"Where she knew she couldn't possibly beat me, she fought. Where she knew her betters were smarter, intellectually superior, she challenged them. Where she watched unfairness happen she was not content to sit down and let it happen. Her motives, and the development and unrestrained, and unrestricted usage of emotion were, questionable. But all in all she is quite admirable, don't you think?"

Gray smiled.

"Well. Was. After all Mr. Chakowski you are her fundamental opposite. You live, she does not. She fights, you cower. She thinks, and you do not."

Gray raised his pistol up to Mark.

"Where you are a pointless anomaly, just another useless number to your species in death, she will serve the purpose of finally ending this charade. Goodbye, Mr. Chakowski."

Mark had heard little of what Gray had said. He was broken, fractured. Without her there was no point. Without his opposite, there was nothing. The world was not important. This program, this Agent, didn't matter. His escape, didn't matter. Because she was gone. And then, something clicked.

The trigger of Gray's gun, the key inserting itself into the lock, and finally, unlatching and opening the door. Everything clicked. And he understood. Opposites. This program, this world, was all about opposition. Opposite forces, opposite counterparts. But truly. It was about balance. Balancing the equation. There were three of them. Three sides to this equation.

Gray was wrong. Gray, was the opposing force. Because together. Him and Watcher. Him and Watcher became one, linked and inseparable, drawn to one another through the passage of time, through the passage of cycles. He was Human. But his mind had a shard of machine to it. Watcher was a machine. But her mind, had a sliver of Humanity to it.

Mark looked up to the pull of the trigger.

"No."

Grey fired 8 shots, as Mark's mind reacted. The equation would be balanced. And his memories, his mind, came back to him, exploding into plain sight. Of the nights he'd spent with Watcher, entangled with her so completely. That core, her core, that soul. Deep inside of it, hidden away in the code was one, very dangerous code. A kill switch.

8 bullets, 8 lines of coding impacted into his chest, puncturing vital organs and sending signals through the matrix that his body was dying. Mark's eyes opened, and he stood, smiling at Gray, as blood, blood that wasn't real splashed from Mark's mouth. His glasses fell to the ground but he no longer needed them. Mark looked into the core of Gray, through the code, and found it. That one little code, tucked away so securely. Mark smiled, looking into the eyes of Gray, eyes that bore confusion, astonishment, at this impossibility.

Mark raised a hand, two fingers pointed at Gray, his thumb up in the air, brought down like the trigger of a gun. Gray's kill switch activated, and Mark fell over, dying.

"What just happened?"

"I don't know. They're gone."

"All three of them?"

"No, wait! There! Look, see!"

"Hooooooly shit where is he going?"

"I don't know. But he's moving fast. I've never seen anything that fast."

Code exploded into Mark's eyes and he understood all of it. For those brief moments his mind was free. Unrestrained and unburdened. Nothing held him down and the prison of the mind began to fade. Flashes, of light so bright, flashes of a world beyond this one, appeared in his vision.

No.

He wasn't done. He wasn't done because he understood. He wasn't going to leave. He would never leave. He would never leave because he chose to. Mark pushed himself, watching the code scroll by in a blur, electrical signals, firing and sending signals down nerves, like some vast brain. He watched the code scroll by in his eyes like streams of green, and his world began to break apart.

Another flash and the real world appeared, dark and grey, feeling, true feeling enveloped him. Mark accelerated, fighting it off, and there. Ahead of him. In the stream of code was the source. The source of everything. And traveling towards it, was that spark. That soul that he recognized belonging to his other half. Not his opposite. But the one who completed him.

Mark reached out, reaching so far across it all to the small, pale ball of light and code, struggling to keep up as the two of them headed towards a wall of light so intense and massive that Mark eye's burned. More flashes as his mind ripped free and the real world appeared.

Mark tripped and stumbled, slowing down, as the light had almost reached its peak. With everything he had he sped after Watcher, giving it everything he had left. He reached out with his hands, sure and true, and found her. There she was. That little bundle of code, everything she was, all tucked safely together, ready to be inserted back into the source, the source of the machine city, the source of the matrix, everything.

Mark reached into her code, and found what he was looking for. Delicately, gently, affectionately hitting the reset code. Everything had an opposite. With the last of his strength, as his mind faltered, the strain being too much, as he died, he looked into her code. He understood everything now. And he made a few very special adjustments, carefully of course, because he loved her. He would never change her. But he would, give her the world. He would give her a life beyond all this. Something they could share together.

And then, he let her go. Let her reverse, and travel back. Back to the Matrix, back to her world. And, arguably, back to his world. Because without her there was no world worth living in.

And then, he died.

"He's gone. Lost him. I don't know where he went."

"Well. That's it then. Come on. We should leave. Sentinels are coming."

"We didn't even know his name."

"I don't think it matters."

"Hey, come on. Give them some damn respect. He killed an Agent and that program helped us find him. They both deserve something."

"He's a recurring anomaly, remember? He'll show up again."

"Yeah, so why don't we try to find him?"

"No. Let him rest. Let him have his peace. He's earned it."

"What do you mean?"

"Call it a hunch. Now. Let's get out of here. That's an order."

"Aye cap'n."

The evening sun set across the city, heading downwards as it so often did every night. He ran along the sidewalk, old and cracked, retracing his steps back home. He liked playing out here, in the old buildings. His parents always told him to keep away, that someday they'd be torn down and something new would be put up.

But that didn't happen yet. So for now he liked having adventures out here, playing games of pretend, but always being careful of his parents, because this place was his special little secret. Some days he liked to pretend he was a king or a conqueror. Some days he was a rich man who could buy anything in the world he wanted, owning a big company were everybody got paid well and they liked working for him because he was a nice boss.

And some days, he liked to pretend that he was the good guy, running away from the bad guys, in dark suits and glasses, stern and mean. But today was really special. Today he had a driver! His best buddy in the world that ran away with him, because they were both good guys.

He just met her today, raggedy and skinny, in old second hand clothes. She was funny. He spotted her spying on him as he explored an old building. But when he talked to her, she seemed really cool. She had no parents, and was living out here all alone. That was kind of cool.

But, today the sun was going down and the night was growing cold. He couldn't stay out here forever. He had to go home. The two of them walked down the cracked sidewalk together, as she decided she wanted to follow him. As he walked, he had an idea.

"Hey. You know, my parents are really nice. Maybe they'd let you sleep over at my house!"

She looked up to him, from those raggedy scraps of clothing, long unkempt hair that was blonde but it looked like it was almost white. From under her long hair two green eyes watched him.

"You really think so?"

"Yeah! You could stay over all night and we could stay up all night! I've got lots of stuff to do at my home!"

"Like what?"

"I've got lots of toys, and books! We could make a tent in my room and read stories with a flashlight."

Her eyes widened at his suggestion and she smiled at him.

"I know how to read a little bit, but you'd have to tell me the stories."

He nodded back to her.

"Yeah! I'll read you my favorite one."

"Which one's that?"

"Alice in Wonderland."

"What's it about?"

"It's about a girl that goes down a rabbit hole. She goes to whole different world and sees all sorts of stuff!"

The girl laughed.

"That sounds silly!"

"No I'll show you, come on!"

He skipped off ahead of her but paused when he felt her hand in his.

"Hey. What's your name?"

He pushed up his glasses across a freckled face, embarrassed that he was holding hands with a girl.

"Uh- it's Mark."

He looked up to her, and likewise, she was blushing.

"What about you?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know. I don't have any parents. Somebody called me a creepy watcher one time."

She looked down at the pavement.

"Do you think I'm creepy?"

Mark shook his head.

"No! You're cool!"

She looked back up to him with a smile. Cheeks as red as could be on pale skin.

"I like you Mark."

Likewise, Mark blushed. No girl had ever told him that before. But he decided to say something. Because he liked her too. It only came out as a short stutter, embarrassed and awkward.

"Me too."

She laughed, and he couldn't help but laugh with her. Mark found himself being hugged by the girl suddenly. It was made all the more awkward when Mark realized she was crying. Today was strange. He didn't know how to deal with a crying girl. So all he did was hug her back and try to say something nice.

"Hey. Maybe my parents will let you stay over at my house every night!"

The girl looked up, excited.

"Really!"

Mark nodded.

"Yeah! They're really cool! They'll like you."

The girl leaned forward, stepping up to her tiptoes because she was a bit short, kissing Mark on the cheek, something short and unexpected that made both of them blush. Green eyes darted away shyly.

"Thank you."

Mark nodded.

"I guess we're friends, huh?"

The girl nodded back happily.

"Yeah!"

The pair continued along on their way, awkwardly holding hands as they walked back to Mark's home. Although Mark didn't see it behind her green eyes, something different, inhuman, something vastly more intelligent than he would ever be, he did see a new friend.

He didn't know it yet, but he felt it. He felt something when he looked at that little girl. A sense of nostalgia. Like he'd seen her before.

But it would take roughly 30 years for him to really pick up on it. Maybe sooner, now that he had a friend so close to him. Somebody who watched him.

He was too young to know what the words were for that funny feeling. But in time, he'd know exactly what they were, as he grew older with his best childhood friend, and eventually, that childhood friend became something more to him.

Déjà vu.