Title: Agents: J Tiberius K
Category: Movies ยป Matrix
Author: Overlord Mordax
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T
Genre: Fantasy
Published: 07-17-03, Updated: 02-23-04
Chapters: 8, Words: 21,158
Chapter 1: BlackbirdKing
A/N: This is the story of a young man’s search for answers, not to some cosmic truth, but to the simple question ‘Where in HELL are you?!’ A World Apart spans a larger timeframe than any of my previous installments and will be multi-chaptered. It’s a story about friendship and trust, impatience and determination. It’s something of a mystery story as well.
As always [] denotes something typed on a computer screen.
Summery: BlackBird_King, a prominent figure in certain net communities has disappeared and J_Tiberius_K (aka David Madison), his best online friend, takes it upon himself to find the missing gamer and discover his true identity. But Tib will have his search hampered by a number of people, from technogoths with heavy weaponry, to old school ‘friends’, and of course men in suits and dark glasses…
Disclaimer: The Matrix belongs to Warner and the Wachowskis. Tiberius is my character. Greer is still mine. None of the videogames mentioned belong to me, nor obviously, does ffnet. The Agents series was created by Stormhawk. Yami is used with permission from her creator, Rogue MacKallister.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental. (heheh…)
Agents: J Tiberius K
[ThanosUragataa: I just can’t believe they took that sort of thing out. I mean that’s ridiculous, they’re trying to market everything for children now days. What’s so bad about a cornfield anyways? Come on, does anybody up at NOA actually THINK? I want the Japanese version!]
[J_Tiberius_K: I think it was more for time Thanos] The boy responded, trying to type while eating a bowl of ramen, and still manage not to drop the contents of his chopsticks all over his keyboard. The last time he’d done that he’d had to go out and buy a new one. His name was technically David Madison, but his friends called him Tib. [They wanted to get it out by xmas. Production was already months behind.]
He hit enter and sat back waiting for the next response, deep in his discussion about the new Zelda game. It was on his usual chat at GXX’s site and the whole crowd was there, well except for one person. Tib pushed his glasses back up as GXX himself spoke up.
[GameplayerXX: That’s right, just like OOT, same thing. U’d think they’d know to start earlier. It was an awesome game though, what we got to play of it.]
[ZeldaDragomire: Hey, speaking of OOT wasn’t Blackbird_King trying to hack the cart and restore playability to the lost areas? Or was that just a rumor like Mr. You can so get the Triforce? I’d like to wring the neck of the idiot that started that wild goose chase. Why did you let people post those, anyway huh X?]
The bespectacled young man glared at the screen. Of course they had to mention Blackbird, it wasn’t enough that he hadn’t gotten an email from him in the last two weeks, he couldn’t even find any recent posts from him, anywhere. It was like the guy had just dropped off the face of the earth! He shoveled more of the salty noodles into his mouth.
[GameplayerXX: While I’ll agree some people abused that particular board I happen to think the great Triforce hunt was a lot of fun! And ya, that’s what Blackie said he was trying to do anyway. (-5h0w 0FF-). Where is he today?]
Tib rolled his eyes and looked around for somewhere to set his empty ramen bowl. Scanner bed? Tower? The top of the monitor? His bed? Why oh why didn’t he get a table in here? Oh riiiiight, No room. He set the bowl on the floor and typed urgently.
[J_Tiberius_K: Has anyone actually heard from Blackbird_King in the past two weeks? I haven’t heard from him in…] Tib hastily pulled up a new window and opened his email account. Going to the folder marked Blackbird he opened up the last message he had gotten and checked the date on it. [15 d, 9 h and 23 min.]
[ThanosUragataa: Maybe he’s avoiding you Tib. Lol. U go stalker on him?]
He pushed his glasses up. [I’m serious! I can’t find any new posts from him or anything. It’s like he just disappeared…]
[ZeldaDragomire: Honestly? That’s pretty weird. Are you sure he’s not just out of town or something?]
[J_Tiberius_K: He’d have told me, besides, he has wireless on his laptop.]
[ThanosUragataa: Maybe the feds got to him ya know? Wasn’t he into some heavy hacker shit? I bet he got a visit from the man.]
The skinny boy shuddered at the possibility. He tried not to picture Blackbird in handcuffs, in a badly lit room with government agents breathing down his neck. Asking him who his fellow hackers were, edging him closer and closer to selling out.
[GameplayerXX: Or maybe he fell in with the yakuza, or the Russians. In Gibson whenever somebody disappears off the net it’s the Russians. Or AI computer whores. In Idoru it was some digital floozie. And the Russians.]
He rolled his eyes. [J_Tiberius_K: I somehow doubt he was abducted by the Russian mob, and nobody’s even close to inventing AI, you know that XX.]
[GameplayerXX: Yeah, but it could still be some babe.]
[J_Tiberius_K: *snort* Right, he’s completely stopped using the net because of some girl.]
[ThanosUragataa: What’s the matter Tib? Jealous?]
He was about to type a sharp reply when someone else came to his defense.
[ZeldaDragomire: He’s worried about BBK, Thanos, leave him alone. I’m kinda worried to, I just ran a quick check on his profile, he hasn’t posted anything in over two weeks, at least not as Blackbird_King. Has he got any aliases?]
Tib replied quickly, grateful for the support. [Not that I know of Zel. If he does have another he’s done a good job of separating it from BBK. No trails.]
[ThanosUragataa: Can we drop Tib’s boyfriend issues? I DID just beat FFXI. Doesn’t anyone want to hear about it?]
[ZeldaDragomire: NO! You know, Thanos, the way you’re obsessing over this, somebody might think you’ve got a crush on Tib.]
[ThanosUragataa: You’re full of shit Zelda. Stop defending the little fag.]
Tib glared angrily at the screen, irritated with Thanos. The idiot would be insane with indignation if he’d gone missing and nobody was worried! He typed furiously and sent his message. At the same time replies from Zelda and XX came up.
[J_Tiberius_K: XX, can you please kick him out of the room?]
[ZeldaDragomire: Isn’t this room abuse? Boot him XX]
[GameplayerXX: That’s it Thanos, third time this month you’ve attacked Tib. You’re out.]
Another message came up promptly.
[ThanosUragataa has been booted]
[GameplayerXX: Better?]
[J_Tiberius_K: *grins* Thanks man.]
[GameplayerXX: No prob.]
[ZeldaDragomire: So, do any of us have any idea as to his offline id?]
[GameplayerXX: Nope.]
[J_Tiberius_K: Obviously not.]
[Tookitiki420 has entered the room]
[ZeldaDragomire: Know anybody who does?]
[Tookitiki2020: Does what?]
[J_Tiberius_K: Know who Blackbird_King is in real life or where in hell he’s been for 2 weeks.]
[Tookitiki2020: You mean the guy who writes the Mario bros fics? ‘Life in Spikes’?]
[J_Tiberius_K: The same. He’s missing for 2 weeks]
[Tookitiki2020: He is? Um, no, I donno who he is. But his Mario character Nunzio is from upstate New York. That might be where he’s from.]
[ZeldaDragomire: Not much to go on, but better than nothing. What about a name? He doesn’t display it on his profile, any of you know it?]
[J_Tiberius_K: It’s Greer. At least, that’s what he says it is. But that’s all he’ll tell me.]
[GameplayerXX: That a first name or a last name?]
[J_Tiberius_K: No idea.]
[ZeldaDagomire: Well, it’s a start. Run a search for ‘Greer’ in the New York phone directory and hope he’s got a listed number.]
[Tookitiki2020: I’ll do it. I’m pulling up the page now. Hold on a sec.]
[J_Tiberius_K: Thanks.]
But he was distracted. It’s couldn’t be, could it?…It would be way too much of a co-incidence. Blackbird_King couldn’t be Vincent Greer from his old high school. He’d noticed the similarity of names before, but the fact that they both lived in New York. It was impossible. Or at the very least, highly improbable. He didn’t even know if Blackbird really lived in New York anyway, it was just where his character was from. This was ridiculous.
Tib picked up the half-full Pepsi can from beside his keyboard and took a sip. He grimaced with revulsion. It was flat, and warm…He set it back down, wondering if he should bother going to get another one.
[Tookitiki2020: Got it. There are almost three thousand people in New York state with the last name Greer, and two with the first name. Do you want the list?]
Tib felt his heart sinking. That many? It was practically pointless to bother then.
[J_Tiberius_K: Thanks but no thanks, Tooki. *sigh* Really that many?]
[Tookitiki2020: Ya, sorry man. I hope you find him. Maybe he’s just busy.]
[J_Tiberius_K: Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m just spazzing over nothing.]
[ZeldaDragomire: Don’t worry about it Tib. Thanos was just talking out his ass with the whole fed thing. No way he’s been arrested.]
[GameplayerXX: We’ll keep an eye out for him, believe u me. But watch out for the Russian mob, okay?]
Tib grinned [Sure XX. I’ll make sure not to get involved with the Russian Mob. Thanks guys] he typed back, and then happened to glance down at the clock. It was seven thirty, in the morning. He’d forgotten to go to sleep again, damn it all, and his mom would be coming up in minutes to remind him that he had class this morning, great, just great. [Shit I gotta go. See you later.]
He logged out of the room, not bothering to listen to everyone’s polite goodbyes. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and hearing the abused metal groan. This damned insomnia, he didn’t even feel tired, at least, not any more so than he ever did. He stood up, his feet somewhat unsteady for having been sitting down for the last what was it, ten hours? Something told him that wasn’t altogether healthy, and something else told him he didn’t really care. Tib collapsed onto his perpetually unmade bed, his scrawny body sprawled over the lumpy blankets and his brown, uneven locks splayed out over the pillow that his face was buried in. His glasses pressed into the bridge of his nose.
There was a knock on his door. “David honey, you have class in an hour.”
“I know mom,” he muttered sullenly, turning over to stare at the door with its poster of Lara Croft. Tib shook his head, wondering why he bothered to go to class at all, he passed all the tests anyway. But that wasn’t the point was it? He wasn’t to class because people expected him to, because he expected himself to. He was ever the good little nerd, wasn’t he? Except for that once.
He grimaced as the image of the jock’s face, blood and teeth spraying came back to him. Tib sat up, shaking his head. That was almost three years in the past, but it still haunted him and so did the rumors. Tib was afraid he’d always be the kid that killed somebody with a janitor’s bucket. It made him angry, and he glared at the blurred outlines of his room as he wiped his filthy glasses off with edge of the t-shirt he’d been wearing since yesterday. Nobody could understand what it was like to be what he was, to be that defenseless outlet for everybody else’s aggression, and nobody cared, at least nobody he was currently in contact with. Vincent had gotten it, but that too was in the past.
Tib stood up and flipped the light on, a harsh yellow glare suddenly emanating from the bulb on the ceiling. He squinted, and shuffled over to his dresser, digging through it for something vaguely decent to put on. He didn’t have much a few pairs of faded jeans and a large number of various fan shirts. He snorted, not much was clean today; he’d have to do laundry or something tonight. Looked like he had a choice between DBZ and one of his slogan shirts. Tib shoved the anime shirt back in, it practically went down to his knees. He took a look at the other shirt, ah, how appropriate. It was white and he’d gotten it at a Trek convention last year, it proclaimed in sickly green letters ‘Live Poor, Die Young’ and in smaller letters, attributed the quote as a ‘Vulcan Fanboy Proverb’. Tib pulled off the ratty black shirt he’d been wearing and replaced it with LPDY. He then changed from a pair of black jeans that were four sizes too big, to a pair of blue ones that were only twosizes too big, and belted them so that they didn’t fall off. He was already wearing his shoes.
He yanked his door open, turned off the light and yanked it closed again when he was in the hallway, the Haz-Mat sign hanging on it clanking against the wood.
It was going to be a long day, he decided, a very long day.
To be continued…
Chapter 2: Eat Me
A/N: Text between solid lines denotes static web pages and e-mails. As always [] denotes typing/chatting/IMs
Disclaimer: Matrix is owned by Warner and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by me and Stormhawk. Tib belongs to me, so does Zelda. I don’t own , , or . I don’t own or the story “Not Worth More than Rubies” which can be found on ffnet, a site I also don’t own. Or Google. In fact, it’s reasonable to say I don’t own any of the websites, movies or games in this fic.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Agents: J_Tiberius_K
Chapter 2- Eat Me
Tib drummed his fingers beside the keyboard, looking over his shoulder to make sure the professor wasn’t looking in his direction. It was all clear, so he minimized the project he was supposed to be working on and brought up his mail box, scanning the contents quickly. Two DeviantART notes, probably for the pic he put up that morning, an ffnet author alert for the LoZ fic he was reading, Rainblood’s reply in their Velgarth RP, and something from ZeldaDragomire. But still nothing from Blackbird_King, even though it had now been a month since he’d gone missing.
He pushed up his glasses with nervous irritation. Blackbird was supposed to be there, there was no reason for him to just up and disappear! Thanos’ comments about the hacker possibly being arrested, and even gamerXX’s Russian mafia theory had been playing over in his mind the past few days and he could hardly get any peace these days. That was it, he decided, cracking his knuckles. He was going to tackle this for real; he’d start tonight with a thorough check of everything Blackbird had posted in the last few months, and see if he could find any clues to where he might have gone. After that, well, he’d have to see.
He glanced over his shoulder again, the professor was hassling somebody across the room. He opened Zelda’s letter.
_
From: “Zelda” zeldadragomire66
Subject: READ THIS!
To: “Tib” J_Tiberius_K
Tib,
Donno if you believe in this stuff at all, but I had a dream with Blackbird_King last night. I was standing in this room, I think it was a bunch of cupboards; it had a checkerboard floor and a sink. He was leaning by the door, looking really indistinct. He looked up at me and the room started spinning. Then just before I woke up he said ‘Your move’.
Of course, I don’t know what he ACTUALLY looks like, but in the dream it was him. Again, donno if you buy this stuff, but as far as I’m concerned it means that if you’re ever going to look for him, now’s the time.
Do you like my new email address? I thought about using but I like this one better. The excite address just got boring.
hearts
Zelda
_
Tib raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure he believe the dream meant anything more than proof that he wasn’t the only one worried about Blackbird, but still if he had been looking for a sign to go ahead with his ‘investigation’ he couldn’t have asked for better, faster service. He smiled, pushing his glasses up again; the arrow hovered over the ‘reply’ button.
“Ehem,” said a voice behind him.
Tib looked up, to see the face of his professor leering down. His heart sank to his stomach.
“Mr. Madison, I don’t recall class time being the time for us to check our personal email. Do you, Mr. Madison?” Professor Johnson peered down at him, her blue eyes flashing behind her spectacles.
Much as Tib generally got on well with his teachers, his strict, female programming teacher, Anita Johnson, was the strange exception. It seemed to small fan-boy that the sharp-faced woman had disliked him from the moment he set foot in her classroom. Maybe her bun was wound too tight. When he was out of range of her wrath he hated her, but in her presence she was just intimidating.
“Sorry ma’am,” he muttered, cringing away and logging quickly out of his mailbox.
She raised her finely plucked eyebrows. “Well, let me see your progress on our project, won’t you?” she smiled with false sweetness.
He pulled up the other screen and looked up; luckily there was nothing for her to criticize, he was far ahead of the rest of the class.
She scanned his work, her gaze darkening. “See that it doesn’t happen again,” she snapped, and turned sharply, walking away.
Tib slumped back into his chair, relieved.
Tib peered around the corner into his mother’s color-coordinated kitchen (black and white checkerboard), to find it empty. She must still be out at bingo. He smiled and dropped his bag on the floor, grabbing a Pepsi and the rest of last night’s Chinese out of the fridge. He forked some fried rice into his mouth as he headed to his room. He froze, hearing the door.
“David, sweetie? Are you home yet?” his mother called.
“Yeah, I’m home mom,” he said, suppressing a sigh. “How was bingo?”
“It was nice, Janine was there and I won fifty dollars,” she poked her head into the hallway and grinned at him, her Day-Glo pink bingo bag hanging at her hip. “How was your class?”
He smiled wanly, pushing a strand of his un-even hair out of his face. “It was okay.”
She nodded authoritatively. “You’re eating, good. I don’t like how skinny you’ve gotten. Sometimes I think you’re anorexic.”
“Anorexia is an almost solely female disorder.”
“I’m your mom Davey, I worry about you. You were such a chubby little boy and you lost all that weight in high school,” she chided. “You eat like a bird these days. All those funny soft-drinks and instant noodles. I just don’t think it’s healthy.”
He sighed; they had this discussion practically twice a week. So he could count his ribs, that didn’t mean he was sick or anything. “Okay mom, I promise I’ll eat more.”
“Good. What are your plans this afternoon?”
“I have some computer stuff I need to do.”
She pursed her lips. “Alright. But do some laundry for me today. And I’m going to see a play tonight; you’re welcome to come with me.”
“I’ll think about it. And I promise I’ll do laundry.”
“Good boy. Now go play with your computer,” she patted him on the head and scooted off into the kitchen.
Tib rolled his eyes, chewing on the Chinese food as he hurried back to his room. His mom still treated him like a little kid, she always had. Maybe if his dad was still around she wouldn’t feel so very obligated, but he hadn’t lived past Tib’s sixth birthday, and his mother seemed to think she had to baby him forever because of it. A kind of odd psychological reaction, but if that was how his mom coped, so be it. He pulled his door open, and closed it behind him, nodding respectfully to his poster of Lara Croft.
He sat down in his swiveling chair, pulling a small, cheap-plastic table over to put his meal on as he worked, and booted up his computer. He drummed his fingers beside the keyboard until a moment later the screen came up with his LoZ Three Goddesses wallpaper. He pulled up his internet connection. The sound of the modem (his mom wouldn’t spring for anything better than dial up) reminded him to put on a CD. Tib turned around in his chair and thumbed through his considerable CD collection, most of which were burnt because he didn’t want to chew up disk space saving his mp3s on his hard drive. The collection was impeccably organized, unlike most of his room, with the soundtracks first. LotR FotR, LotR TT, Queen of the Damned, LoZ Hyrule Orchestra, Harry Potter, Tomb Raider. He shook his head, needing to look no further since the intense work he was up for called for something instrumental, and slipped the Two Towers soundtrack into his CD ROM drive.
Tib had his mail box set as his home page and he saw Zelda’s letter still there, unanswered thanks to the Vulture. He clicked reply and typed a hasty note.
From: “Tib” J_Tiberius_K
Subject: The Missing King
To: “Zelda” ZeldaDragomire66
Zel-chan,
Interesting dream. I’m going to be looking for him, so spread the word, if you will. I plan on combing some old posts to see if there are any hints on where he might be. If that doesn’t work, well, I might just resort to breaking and entering.
-Tib
Breaking and entering, he might have to do just that, hack into Blackbird_King’s box and see if he could find anything. He didn’t want to, it was a terrible breach of privacy between friends, but if Blackbird was in trouble, or…he shook his head. Blackbird was not dead. Couldn’t happen. Even if it was possible that he could have gotten into a car accident or knifed in a corner and no one on line would ever know, it was impossible. But he’d run a search of recent obituaries for ‘Greer’ just in case.
Another thought came to him. If Thanos were right and the feds did have Blackbird than they might be snooping on his box, and if he hacked in they might come for him. Not a good thing. Tib shook his head. Ridiculous, the answer had to be a lot more mundane, he was probably staying with some relative who was Mormon, or Amish, or one of those people who hated technology, what were they called? Ah, Ludites. They didn’t even have light bulbs, and definitely wouldn’t let him use a computer.
Tib brought up Google and typed in Blackbird_King, and then he brought up the message board network he most frequently posted and went to his missing friend’s profile. His last five posts were, from oldest to newest: “Ganon, put some CLOTHES on!”, “Re: Not Worth More than Rubies,” “The Brain-dead Epona trick,” “Re: The Edge of the Looking Glass” and “Re: Cyber-Terrorist ‘Morpheus’ Continues to Elude Capture.”
The last post caught Tib’s eye as something out of the ordinary, as he hadn’t known Blackbird to haunt World News discussions. He clicked on the link.
|Jareth459| “Cyber-Terrorist ‘Morpheus’ Continues to Elude Capture”
|posts: 764| Read the article [here].
|”Life is but
a dream”|
_
Before going onto the replies Tib figured he ought to read the article, and clicked on the link, which was to an article on . It turned out to be quite short.
_
Cyber-Terrorist ‘Morpheus’ Continues to Elude Capture
article by Wolf Blitzer
Not all terrorists come from overseas and the personage known as Morpheus is a grim reminder. Little is known about the man, except that he is an American male of African decent and has escaped capture by the world’s finest law-enforcement agencies for over two decades. He and his mysterious organization, believed to be a radical political group, are accused of everything from fraud, to theft, to arson and murder. While no one is quite sure exactly what this organization’s goals are one thing is certain, they are willing to go to any lengths to achieve them.
One top FBI official, Agent Smith, had this to say about Morpheus.
“He [Morpheus] is a dangerous criminal. The effectiveness of his organization depends solely upon their ability to continually convert new members to his cause. He is not to be trusted under any circumstances. If you are contacted by this man or someone who claims to know him, call the police.”
When asked the extent of Morpheus’ operation or for a clearer picture of their goals Agent Smith declined comment, his partner, agent Mimosa, however, went on to say, “These people are crazy, they’ll tell you anything to get you on their side. They’ll claim to have the answer to all your questions, but they are just trying to pad their ranks.”
Morpheus’ group does the bulk of its recruiting on the internet, leaving cryptic messages on sites for hackers and other disaffected teenage groups. They are known to use biblical and literary references to catch the interest of intelligent youths and subvert them. Many teen disappearances have been linked to the activities of this organization.
Morpheus movements have been under close scrutiny, but for the most part he and his organization are nearly invisible to the police and, while Morpheus is said to be the principal figure in the operation his top accomplices, known by their hacker aliases as Neo and Trinity, are also highly sought after by all major world governments.
_
Tib bit his lip. Why was Blackbird_King looking at this stuff? he went back to the message board. The posts should give him some idea.
|Blackbird_King| “Re: Cyber-Terrorist ‘Morpheus’ Continues to Elude Capture”
|posts: 1286| Just who is this Morpheus anyway? Why’s he such a big deal? I’ve heard a lot, but mostly just babbling. I want to know |”What are you what’s going on here.
looking at?”|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|Obsolete| “Re: Cyber-Terrorist ‘Morpheus’ Continues to Elude Capture”
Do you think you can handle the truth?
|Blackbird_King| “Re: Cyber-Terrorist ‘Morpheus’ Continues to Elude Capture”
|posts: 1287| Of course I can “handle” it. Who are you? One of those supposed accomplices?
|”What are you
looking at?”|
|Obsolete| “Re: Cyber-Terrorist ‘Morpheus’ Continues to Elude Capture”
Morpheus helped me find my answers. He can help you find yours. But you have to be willing to risk everything.
|Blackbird_King| “Re: Cyber-Terrorist ‘Morpheus’ Continues to Elude Capture”
|posts: 1288| Okay. What am I supposed to do?
|”What are you
looking at?”|
|Obsolete| “Re: Cyber-Terrorist ‘Morpheus’ Continues to Elude Capture”
Start [here] and then follow the white rabbit. In order to do this you must be able to see past the faรงade of the every day, this is the first step to your answers.
Tib clicked on the link, thoroughly intrigued, and more than a little scared. It was beginning to look like Blackbird had joined some sort of weird terrorist cult! So much for ordinary explanations!
Tib pushed up his glasses waiting for the page to load. But certainly Blackbird was more sensible than that. Maybe he was doing a paper on them? But then Tib remembered that Blackbird didn’t go to school.
The page came up, and Tib was immediately discouraged. It was an error 404. Damn it and this had been his only lead! It had been a great lead! He was sure that he’d be able to figure out what happened. He was about to click away, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. His gaze panned over the error message one more time, and this time caught something that definitely shouldn’t have been there. A grin split over his worried face.
It wasn’t really a broken link after all; the page was deliberately made to look exactly like an error message, except for one small detail. In the lower left hand corner of the page there was a small icon, of a white rabbit.
“So this is what it meant by ‘see beyond the faรงade,” he muttered. Well, now he knew the mentality of these people and he’d be able to figure out the trail better. But had Blackbird_King? Or had the Error message fooled him? Tib couldn’t know, except perhaps by following the trail.
Tib clicked the rabbit and watched his browser react. The page was swallowed up by darkness, and a movie file played, the falling down the rabbit howl scene from Disney’s Alice in Wonderland. Then at the bottom the movie closed and a VRML file opened. Tib was certainly glad his browser supported all this stuff.
Tib moved his mouse back and fourth, looking around the virtual environment. It was mostly just a boring white room, with two doors, one red and one blue. Hardly worth the extra programming in Tib’s opinion, when they could have just used HTML. When he brought his mouse over either door the tag ‘knock?’ came up.
Which one to choose? How was he supposed to know, were there any clues, or was he just supposed to guess? He did another sweep of the room. This time he noticed something on the floor at the other side of the room. It looked like a plaque, and Tib wasn’t surprised he had missed it before. It was almost the same shade as the floor, although it was textured differently. The tag said ‘read?’. He clicked on it.
[One will take you farther down the rabbit hole, and one will send you home.]
Tib frowned. He already knew that! He wanted to know which one! He focused the screen back on the doors. He stared at them a moment, and noticed that it looked like light was leaking out under the blue door. He pointed his mouse at the crack, there was a different tag. ‘Look?’ Tib clicked it. It was a jpg image file, a landscape painting by somebody or another whose name Tib knew he should know, but didn’t. He clicked back and was in the VRML page again. What could that mean?
He rested his mouse on the crack under the red door. ‘Look?’ He clicked it. It too brought him to a jpg, this one a screen-capture from the movie Tank Girl, a still image of the main character wandering around in a post-apocalyptic desert world. Tib smiled. This was definitely the door that led further. He hit back and then clicked ‘knock?’ on the red door.
The page took a moment to load, and while he was waiting he got an IM.
[ZeldaDragomire: Hey Tib. How’s the search going?]
He grinned and typed back. [Really well, I’ve actually got a lead!]
[ZeldaDragomire: Really?]
[Yeah. I think he was kidnapped by a cult/political radical group.]
[ZeldaDragomire: B serious!]
[I am]
The page came up.
[Zel, I gotta go. I’ll IM you when I can]
[ZeldaDragomire: k]
Tib studied the page, it was a graphics heavy page of seemingly random links. What was he looking for? There were links to a lot of sights he knew, , and ffnet, amusingly there was a link to the FBI webpage, /magazines/PHRACK which would proably have issues of the famous eighties hacker magazine, and then there were the links to personal pages, there was no rhyme or reason, there was a link to the Nabisco page, and to FedEx, some Wiccan pages, the official Frank Sinatra fan page, grandma porn, Alcoholics Anonymous, Elfwood, the New York Lotto, , the anime turnpike, , the Black Rose Society, the full test of Machiavelli’s The Prince, the Food Not Bombs homepage, . There were too many to look at, and all the flashing colors were giving him a headache. Whoever had collected these was either really eclectic, or wanted to hide something really well.
He was looking for something different than the rest. Something out of the ordinary. He squinted the page, he was on the verge of giving up. But then he saw it, what he’d at first thought to be part of the banner for Benny’s Best Bakery, was actually a separate link. It was a red line drawing of a cup-cake, with the words ‘eat me’ on it.
He clicked it.
To be continued…
Chapter 3: Chapter Three
A/N: Sparks is from Enter the Matrix. He’s one of my ‘favorite’ rebels. It’s a great game, you should play it, even if you can’t play an agent…*sigh*
Disclaimer: Matrix is owned by Warner and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by me and Stormhawk. Tib belongs to me, so does Zelda, although she takes her screen name from Legend of Zelda, which is owned by NOA/NOJ. Obviously I don’t own , the X-Files or related characters, or anything of that nature. Please do not call Tib, or attempt to locate his house, as both phone number and address are fictional. Besides, stalking isn’t nice.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
J_Tiberius_K
Chapter 3
He clicked it.
Immediately the screen, the entire screen, dissolved into blackness, broken only by one line of green, old style computer text at the top of the screen and a blinking cursor.
[You will be contacted]
Tib frowned. So he’d be contacted, huh? When? And by whom, and through what medium? Was it reasonable that they would email him, or would he receive messages through the mail with cut out newspaper letters, or would someone show up at his door? The dusty-haired young man was wound tightly, his bony shoulders tense, and he half expected to hear a knock on his bedroom door. Edgily he clicked around the screen, trying to find some kind of link or way off the page, but to no avail. He tried ctrl+alt+delete but that didn’t work any better. He was about to pull the plug on his computer when the screen suddenly blinked back to the Yahoo home page.
Tib grimaced; it offended him deeply that somebody else was playing tricks with the only thing of any value that he owned, with his computer. Imagine the nerve. He chewed nervously on his thumbnail.
“Nothing to do now but wait for this ‘contact’,” he muttered to himself, pushing up his glasses. Then he remember, “Oh wait, gotta IM Zelda.”
He pulled up his instant messenger.
[Hey, Zel, I think I’m done for the moment.]
He clicked up to check his yahoo mail again while he waited for her to respond. He had seven new messages.
[ZeldaDragomire: So, what’s going on Tib? What about a cult?]
Tib quickly filled her in on his findings.
[ZeldaDragomire: You’re kidding! You’re starting to sound like XX and all his Gibson talk.]
[It’s no joke] he warned her, [this is real, and I think it may be very dangerous. I can prove it to you, but you have to promise me you won’t go looking for this Morpheus guy. If I disappear, I don’t want you to as well.]
***
In the quiet of her room the natural red-head lay on her bed goggling at the screen of her laptop while trying to decide whether or not she should believe what was going on. Although, she wasn’t sure which was more of a stretch; believing that Tib was on the trail of some cyber cult, or believing that Blackbird_King of all people would join one? She smoothed out the blanket anxiously, and after some hesitation, replied.
[Okay, I promise. Now where’s that proof?]
A moment later Tib sent her an address from , which she clicked. She scanned the article fretfully. This was pretty heavy stuff; whacko cult leaders, and teen disappearances? This was the stuff you read in magazines, not stuff that happened to your friends, at least, that was what she had always thought. She typed back.
[Okay, I believe you. But, do you really think they’ll come after you?]
[J_Tiberius_K: Zel-chan, I practically signed a recruiting pamphlet, and I’m willing to bet just about anything that’s exactly what Blackbird did.]
She smirked grimly. Blackbird_King, now there was a character if ever was one. Brilliant, but crazy, constantly acting like he was hyped-up on more caffeine than even a fanboy ought to consume. She had to admit, she missed him around the boards. [Okay, say that’s what happened. How long do you think you’ve got before they come for you?]
[J_Tiberius_K: The post I got the article from is dated about a week before his last post, which is only an hour before his final email that I received.]
She tried to point out the bright spot of the situation. [Hey, Tib just because the King disappeared doesn’t mean he got kidnapped, I mean, if he went looking for them, he probably signed up voluntarily, right?]
Even typed, she could hear the flat tone in Tib’s reply.
[J_Tiberius_K: Yes, the infamous Blackbird_King had a revelation, joined a cult and completely renounce the internet.]
[J_Tiberius_K: Because that’s so something he would do.] he continued.
She frowned and shooed her cat, Spooky, away from her keyboard. [Okay, you’ve got be there, but still…]
[J_Tiberius_K: Don’t you ever watch the news, Zel? Cults like this don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. They’re like the Red Cross, once they’ve got you to donate blood once, they want to keep you for the rest of your life.]
She snorted at the weird analogy, but was still rather annoyed that he presumed her ignorant.
[Well sor-RY! excuse me for not being Mr. Doom and Gloom!]
But then she felt bad and relented. [Sorry, Tib. I know you’re worried; I probably would be too in your place. Just think Hero of Time, kay? ;)]
[J_Tiberius_K: Apology accepted. It’s hard for me to believe anyway.]
[Hey, at least you didn’t discover that he was abducted by aliens.]
[J_Tiberius_K: Where’s agent Mulder when you need him?]
She chuckled, then responded. [You know, you could try calling the FBI. I bet they could track somebody down using nothing but their net alias.]
[J_Tiberius_K: Sure, but why would they? I can’t even prove he’s missing. And I don’t have any money to hire a private detective. No. I’m on my own on this one.]
She pursed her lips. [Ehem? What am I? Chopped liver?]
[J_Tiberius_K: Hardly. But I told you, I don’t want you to get involved in this.]
[In the cult you said, that doesn’t preclude me from helping. For instance…] She thought hard, and came up with an idea. [Give me your real name, address and phone number, so if YOU disappear, I’ll know, and can go to the FBI.]
[J_Tiberius_K: Zelda that’s a wonderful idea! Okay, my name’s David Esau Madison, I live in Cleveland, Ohio, at 574 Stone Road, and my phone number is (555) 555-7352. ]
She fairly marveled at how quickly and unworriedly he’d given away his real identity and location, he certainly was trusting, wasn’t he. She knew she would have been a lot more hesitant if he had asked her the same. But now she felt rather guilty for that fact, and thought she ought to trust him as well, especially since it turned out he didn’t live as far away as she had imagined.
[Huh,] she typed back. [Imagine that, I only live an hour or two away, in Pennsylvania. My name’s Beverly Fields, by the way. ]
[J_Tiberius_K: Beverly, huh?]
She pouted. [Oh stop it, Trek boy, I can hear you laughing from here! Besides, how’d you end up with ‘Esau’?]
[J_Tiberius_K: It was my dad’s name]
Was? She thought with a pause. [It’s from the bible, right?]
[J_Tiberius_K: Yeah Jacob and Esau. My grandmother was really religious.]
She hesitated a moment but decided to ask. [What about your dad?]
She started at the screen waiting for a reply. It took so long she was almost convinced it wouldn’t come. He probably didn’t want to talk about it.
[J_Tiberius_K: He was a Homicide detective. He was killed in the line of duty by this serial murderer when I was six. My mom and I had to be put in the Witness protection program for a while, new names, new place, everything. I don’t remember much of it, I guess I blocked it out. Anyway they caught the guy two years later in Miami. Apparently he’d gotten into using drugs and they busted him for cocaine, then they found out who he was. We stayed in New York a while though, until just a couple years ago.]
Beverly stared. [Wow. I’m sorry.]
[J_Tiberius_K: It’s not your fault.]
[So why’d you leave New York?]
[J_Tiberius_K: …That I’d rather not talk about.]
She blinked. What could be worse than telling her about his dad? But she wouldn’t press the matter. [That’s fine. So hey, have you seen the latest peeks from the new FF?]
[J_Tiberius_K: Not yet, would you send them to me?]
[Sure, just a sec] She was happy to be back on lighter matters now, and emailed him the pics she’d found.
[J_Tiberius_K: Thanks!]
[No prob.]
Someone knocked on her bedroom door. [Hold on a sec] She looked up. “Come in!”
The door opened, it was her father. “Beverly?”
“Yes daddy?” she sighed mentally. He probably wanted her to get off the computer and do something in the real world.
“I guess you didn’t hear the phone. Your friend Tina called, she wanted you to call her, something about seeing a movie,” he smiled at her.
Beverly’s brown eyes lit up. They’d been talking about going to see Pirates of the Caribbean, but Tina kept having to put it off because of her work schedule. “Can I go dad? Do you mind?”
“Not at all sweetie. You mom and I are going out to dinner tonight, so make sure you take your key.”
She grinned. “I will dad, thanks.”
Her dad walked out and closed the door.
Beverly looked back down at her computer.
[I gotta go Tib. You okay?]
[J_Tiberius_K: I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. But remember, you know what to do if I disappear!]
[Got it! *salutes* Aye aye cap’n!]
[J_Tiberius_K: See ya later Zel]
[See ya.]
She logged off, and closing her laptop got up to get the phone.
***
Tib watched Zelda’s icon go from online to offline and immediately lapsed back into worry without her reassuring presence. How had he gotten himself so far in over his head? He rubbed his temples and stood up to go get some aspirin.
Opening his door the light, bright in contrast to his room with the shades perpetually down, hit him like a brick and he winced. Squinting until his eyes adjusted he walked into the kitchen and into took the aspirin off the shelf by the refrigerator. He pulled a coke out of the fridge and sat down at the table, shaking his head at the yellow curtains. He pulled the tab of his soda, the cap off the medicine bottle and washed down three tablets. Then he eyed the fridge with a level gaze.
There had been a time in his life when the refrigerator held a large amount of his day to day life. To put it bluntly he’d been a stereotypical fat geek-boy. The pocket money he hadn’t spent on games and DVDs was spent on snacks, but then he’d started high school. His losing weight had nothing to do with thinking he’d be more popular if he did, he’d just gotten depressed and stopped eating. He was then amazed to learn how much more ‘nerd junk’ he could buy, so he’d kept at it. It impressed his mother at first, how little he was eating, but then it started to worry her, when he started to look underfed.
But Tib had noticed something; he practically didn’t get hungry any more, especially when he spent more of his time on line. It was almost like he didn’t need to eat. Sometimes he thought it was weird but most of the time he barely noticed it. He had more important things to do than eat. All he had to do was to make sure he had a few bites in front of his mother once in a while.
He stood up and took a few deep breaths; he knew it wasn’t good to stay this high strung and tense, he needed to relax. He grabbed his mostly full soda and headed back to his room. He closed the door behind him and began shoving the clutter away to clear a space in the middle of his floor.
Once he’d gotten the clothes, notebooks and print-outs out of the way he stood in the open circle and took a few more deep breaths. Then he began the slow, rhythmic Aikido exercises he’d taught himself in years past. He gradually picked up speed and force with deft punches and high kicks, and he did it all silently. If his mother caught him she’d be upset.
She disapproved of course, because of his father, and because of ‘the incident’. His mother hated violence and fighting, and to tell the truth so did Tib. For him the martial arts he learned were a sort of deep meditation and nothing more, an exercise for body, mind and spirit as they had been intended. The incident with Colin had been an accident and nothing more. God damn it they had no right to be attacking him! He shouldn’t have had to defend himself! People like that…people like that were messed up, but they didn’t deserve to die!
He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, it was a study of anger and frustration, and he was immediately upset with himself. This wasn’t what he needed, he needed to relax. For god’s sake, the jock wouldn’t stop tormenting him even in death!
Ridiculous! he told himself, slowing his motions down from the wild swings they had become. Colin was dead and rationally Tib should no longer let him be an influence in his life. Let the dead lie buried. It was pointless to fixate on it, what was done was done. Besides, there were other forces at work in his life and he needed to be ready for them.
With that thought in mind Tib was finally able to concentrate and allow the anxiety to drain from his body, from his mind and his heart. He was calm and he was in control. He had to remember that he was in control of his own life, and no one else.
***
In another world a man named Sparks, on the ship called the Logos was watching Tib. It was standard procedure to monitor all potentials for at least a week before making contact.
“What have we got?”
The dark had man jumped and clutched a hand to his heart. “Whoa, captain! Don’t do that to me!”
Niobe shook her head. “Who is he, Sparks?”
“Name’s David Madison, calls himself Tib, short for J_Tiberius_K,” he scanned the green code for loose data. “A major fan boy, lives with his mom, practically lives on line, going to college for computer programming. Doesn’t eat much.” He paused. “Whoa.”
“What is it?”
Sparks raised an eyebrow. “Says here he killed somebody.”
The woman looked at it.
“It was self-defense,” he assured her, “some bully pulled a knife on him, and found out the kid knew karate. Excuse me, Aikido.”
Niobe nodded. “Keep an eye on him.”
“Yes ma’am,” Sparks grinned. “wish I had some popcorn.”
To be continued…
Chapter 4: Twitchy
A/N: Please excuse Mikhail’s accent, I did the best I could. So yes, the ‘typos’ in his dialogue are supposed to be there.
Disclaimer: The Matrix is owned by Warner Bros. and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by myself and Stormhawk. Tib, Zelda, Blackbird_King, and Mikhail are mine. Movies, songs, web-pages, books, etcetera belong to their respective creators unless otherwise mentioned. That being said ‘The Nature of Reality’ does indeed belong to me.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 4
Tib lingered outside the immense west building of his college for a moment, enjoying, almost marveling at, the warmth in the air. He stood by one of the small, recently-planted trees that no one really expected to get any bigger than it already was, and breathed in the place, the other students on campus seeming more vital decoration than individuals.
“Dahvedt,” a voice said behind him, “Dahvedt.”
He turned, wondering if the syllables were meant to be his name, the name he barely remembered to respond to anyway. And the dusty haired boy found himself facing a tall young man, with rough features and curly brown hair.
“Yes?” he asked, immediately recognizing the accented stranger from his art course. Tib had heard he’d moved with his parents from Russia.
“You are Dahvedt Mahdeson, Ahm I right?”
The stranger’s lips were pursed in a slight frown and Tib nodded cautiously.
“For Professor Rhodes’ class, dhe so-called landscape prohject. You did the strange vone, yes? The tangle of wires.”
Tib grimaced, that piece of course, the one they’d finished critiquing the other day. The one he’s gotten a decent grade on, but almost the whole class hated. The assignment was to do a landscape, any kind of landscape, with only a week until it was due.
“Yeah,” Tib told him. “I did that one. I know it sucked.”
For the past twelve days, Tib had felt haunted. He looked over his shoulder everywhere he went, expected kidnappers and imagined dark scenarios where he was hunted by people whose faces he could never quite see. He hadn’t gotten more than twelve hours of sleep total since last week and he hadn’t eaten for three days. He was sure his blood had been completely replaced by caffeine. Not even the net gave him peace anymore, though he was on line almost constantly. The project he had done all in one night, while ignoring GameplayerXX’s IMs.
The stranger shook his head vigorously. “I lihked it,” he insisted. “You are a computer person, I assume?”
He nodded. “I guess you could say that.”
“There are people who live nearly dhere whole lives ohn computers. It is dhere whole vorld. Fascinating.”
Tib was growing very, very uncomfortable. This was one of them, wasn’t it? One of the people with Morpheus. “That’s the idea of the painting,” he agreed hesitantly.
“I thought so.” He paused. “You used vhat, four colors total?”
“Black, white, blue, and yellow. I mixed my own green,” he shuffled his feet thinking of the seven long hours he’d spent with nothing but the painting.
“Impresif.”
Then it occurred to him. “You turned in a blank canvas.”
The stranger threw his hands up and chucked. “You caught me. I could not think ov anythingk to paint this time. I did manage to con the professor into barely passing me, though.”
He stared. “How’d you do that?”
“I told him it was, Antarctica.”
“Impressive,” Tib said.
“Vhy thank you,” he gave a mock bow. “My name is Mikhail, by the vay.” he held out his hand.
Tib twitchy and strung out on Pepsi eyed him nervously, and blurted before he could contain himself, “Are you with Morpheus?”
Mikhail’s grey eyes flickered strangely, and then he raised his eyebrows confusedly. “The gohd of dreams?” He laughed. “I em afraid I em not much for mythology.”
Tib immediately felt his face grow warm. “I’m sorry,” he shook his head apologetically, “I’ve been really tense lately, I haven’t been sleeping well.”
Mikhail spread his hands, “I forgive you,” he said with a wry grin, “Sleep is an unlucky habit for mortals, isn’t it?”
“You can say that again. I’m lucky if I manage two hours a night. I just end up waking up.”
“Then perheps instead of trying to sleep all at once you should try taking ket-naps,” he suggested.
“I’ll give it a try. So…” Tib said, rocking uncomfortably from foot to foot. “You liked the painting, huh?”
“Yes, very much. It…spoke to me. You see, I am something of a …’computer person’ myself,” Mikhail’s cheshire smile had a mocking edge to it, as though laughing at a private joke.
“Really? … You’re not in my class,” he said fretfully. Mikhail seemed pleasant enough, if a bit…eccentric.
“Bah, who needs cless? I am not much more programming besides. I em more of a …user, you see. “
Tib smirked. “By which you certainly couldn’t mean hacker, could you?”
“Oh no no no, of course not! Vhat a shameful activety,” he grinned flamboyantly, then grew a bit more serious. “But. This ‘Morpheus’ you mistook me for, I think I may have heard ov him somevhere.”
He pause, wondering what Mikhail would say if he told him what was going on. Would he think it was a joke? “He’s an international terrorist who I’m waiting for contact from because I think he kidnapped by best friend.”
But instead of laughing, he grew yet more serious. “Thet is a serious situation, my friend. Perheps you would be the wiser to let this friend go.”
Tib shook his head determinedly. “No. I’m going to find him.”
“Thet is an unpleasant prospect. What if he has died, Dahvedt? His troubled spirit may drag you with it for compeny.”
“I don’t believe in that sort of thing,” Tib told him.
“Perheps you should. The world is a stranger place then you know. Take me for example? How do you know I am who I seem to be, eh? You have only my vord to go on. For all you know I could be a goblin from hell come to devour your soul.”
“…That’s creepy, Mikhail.”
He grinned, spreading his hands in assent. “But you see? You see vhat I mean? The vorld is strange Dahvedt, and you are getting yourself into one of the strangest parts. So,” he took a small notepad and a pen out of the pocket of his leather jacket and scribbled something on it. He tore off a page and handed it to him. “Call me anytime. I do not sleep either. But,” he grinned, and put a hand tragically to his forehead, “I hev kept you far to long. Go, shoo.” He waved his hand, turned around and carefully opening the door hurried into the science wing.
“Wait!” Tib said, pulling the door open just as it swung shut. Mikhail had accidentally given him his pen as well. Tib looked down both sides of the long corridor, but the Mikhail was no where to be seen, and the hall wasn’t particularly crowded, either.
Tib shook his head at the weird Russian and his disappearance. He walked back out onto the green campus in the warm air and looked at his watch. His eyes widened, the bus, he’d nearly missed it!
He ran all the way to the stop and, by some aberrant stroke of luck, made it just in time.
***
Somewhere else, someone watched. It was Sparks, on the Logos, and he’d been monitoring Tib for just under two weeks.
“Well, that was odd” he muttered to himself as the green scrolled by and Mikhail dropped off his radar. Of course what about this particular candidate wasn’t a little off? He barely ate, hadn’t been sleeping, and only was poking around in this stuff because he thought Morpheus had ‘kidnapped’ his best friend. Sparks shook his head. He’d contact the kid tonight, just because he was starting to feel bad about putting him on high twitch alert like that.
Sparks shook his head. “Nutcase,” he muttered at the screen.
***
When Tib got home he stopped briefly in the kitchen; he could smell the chicken his mom had in the oven, but that just made him feel sick to his stomach. He pulled a mug from one of the bottom shelves and poured himself some coffee. Normally he didn’t bother with the stuff, but he was out of Jolt and he thought that if he drank enough Pepsi to have the same amount of caffeine he’d probably throw up, again. He’d thrown up the toast he’d tried to eat before class.
He picked up the mug (a Mickey Mouse one), hefted his bag so it balanced better on his shoulder and headed off to his room. Opening the door found it the same as it had ever been, a dim, badly ventilated pit, the closest thing Tib had to a physical safe-haven. It didn’t look like the place had been searched, at least, not to Tib’s eyes, but with all the clutter, who really knew? He shut the door behind him and sat heavily down on his bed, indecision tugging his spirit down like the tattered ends of his jeans, continually trod upon.
He looked over at the glow and hum of his screen saver (anime blondes this week, including Serena, Mihoshi, B-ko, and Fillia) and looked away with a fit of nausea. He couldn’t touch it, not right now. He wanted to talk to someone but he couldn’t stomach the feeling of being watched, the waiting for whatever was going to happen to spring upon him with the suddenness of a shoot the monkey pop-up.
Tib looked at Lara, expertly affixed to the back to his door with scotch tape. He watched her stand there, confident and proud with a smirk on her lips. Being haunted by a terrorist cult wouldn’t phase her, she’d just go about her business, after all, what was the use in worrying until they came after you, weapons blazing? Tib snorted.
“You must think I’m being really stupid right now,” he told the poster. “Making myself ill over something like this. But didn’t it ever scare you, the first time the bizarre intruded on your world? Did it keep you up at night? Did it stop you from eating? Did you find yourself shaking every time you stood still enough to tell?”
Lara smirked.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Nothing ever bothers you,” he adjusted his glassed and took a deep breath. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I did something to get my mind off the whole idea.”
She stood confident and proud.
Tib smiled wanly. “Thanks for your help Ms. Croft.”
The emaciated fan boy stood and walked out of the room, leaving Lara Croft to watch the computer monitor scroll blondes until he got back.
***
“Jesus,” Sparks rolled his eyes. This was not a good idea, this was so not a good idea. The kid was obviously unstable, and on top of everything now he was listing his other symptoms to a poster, an admittedly hot poster, but still the point remained. And anyway, at the place he was at, if Sparks didn’t contact him he go through the rest of his life like this. “Poor kid.”
“What was that?” Niobe asked from behind him.
The operator gave a start. “How many times Niobe?” he asked her tiredly, “You always do that!”
“Just tell me Sparks, what’s this ‘poor kid’ about.”
Sparks bit his lip. “It’s Tib, captain, I don’t think he can handle this. We oughta just leave him alone.”
“No,” the woman said firmly. “Everyone deserves a chance to make the choice for themselves, and we’ll give him his. It’s been long enough Sparks, I want you to establish first contact as soon as possible.”
He nodded. “Of course captain.”
to be continued…
Chapter 5: First Contact
A/N:
Disclaimer: The Matrix is owned by Warner Bros. and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by myself and Stormhawk. Tib, Zelda, and Blackbird_King are mine. Movies, songs, web-pages, books, etcetera belong to their respective creators unless otherwise mentioned.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 5…First Contact
Damn it, Tib still wasn’t online! Zelda ran a hand through her hair nervously. He should have been home from class long before this, and it wasn’t at all like him not to go on the moment he got back. Zel picked her pencil up, tapped it on the pad of paper in her lap, and then chewed on the end of it. She was supposed to be doing artwork someone had requested after seeing her gallery, but she couldn’t concentrate. But this was dumb, Tib was fine, he was probably just busy. She’d just go read some fanfiction until he got un-busy.
But even as she was calling up ffnet, she felt a sharp pang of doubt, and fear for the boy’s safety. She had his phone number; she resolved that if he wasn’t on by tomorrow night she would call his house.
***
David had been playing that game for the better part of six hours, his mother fumed concernedly. And he had not eaten a single thing, not one thing! She was unsure as to whether she’d seen him eat anything all week for that matter, he’d been acting strangely for a few weeks now, and she couldn’t just ignore it anymore. His mother couldn’t stand to see him suffering like that.
***
Tib sat enrapt in front of Final Fantasy 9. He’d beaten it before, but it was his favorite of the newer FF games, and he knew it would take his mind off the whole mess. But now, ten hours after he’d started, it was two in the morning and he knew he’d better call it quits before his mother woke up and yelled at him again. She’d gone to bed hours ago, with the promise from him that he wouldn’t stay up past midnight. Tib saved his game, switched off the console and stood up.
He stretched, holding his bony wrists high above his head, and swatted stray locks of dust-colored hair out from in front of his glasses. He walked over the fuzzy green carpet toward his room, but was distracted by the kitchen. Perhaps he should eat something…
He headed into the normally bright and cheery kitchen, which, at this hour of the night was nearly pitch black, and Tib struggled to find the light switch. The room was flooded with electric light. He looked over at the white refrigerator, and strode over to it. He reached tentatively up the handle, and pulled the magnetic door open, the little light coming on in the back.
He felt a wave of revulsion roll over him as he studied its contents, and closed the door without taking anything. He just couldn’t, the thought of eating made him feel nauseous, and he wasn’t hungry anyway. He was never hungry; he didn’t get hungry, not since his diet freshman year. It seemed to him that he had conquered the need for food, and now it ceased to appeal to him. There were things he liked to eat of course, every once in a while, but what was the use of putting things into your body it didn’t need?
He sighed and shook his head, pulling a glass from above the sink and putting it under the tap. He let the water run, staring at it as it filled and overflowed the glass. He turned the water off and poured the first quarter of the glass out. He held the water up in front of him.
It was a silly little superstition that he’d learned when he was a small child, but it seemed to calm his nerves anyway. A remedy for hiccups, he thought to himself, drink sips of water in number equal to your age. When he was little hiccups for him had been like a synonym for anxiety, and so it had become something of a calming mechanism.
He put the glass to his lips and sipped, taking his lips away from the glass for a second every time he did so. One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… eleven… twelve… thirteen… fourteen… fifteen… sixteen… seventeen… eighteen.
He took a deep breath and set the half-empty glass down on the counter. He smiled. When he was sixty-five that little ritual would take absolutely forever! He turned around, switched off the light and headed to his room.
His computer was still on, and the old beast hadn’t frozen on him as it did sometimes when it was left on without attention for a few hours. He closed the door and sat down heavily on his disheveled bed. If he wasn’t going to eat anything, maybe he ought to try and sleep instead? He looked at the bed, blankets rumpled, pushed up against the wall and the side of the dresser, spider-man sheets exposed. Pillows were strewn haphazardly on the surface as well, except for on hanging off the edge of his computer chair for padding. But he looked back at his computer and blonde screensaver beauties beckoned him to check his email and see if Zelda or XX was online.
He smirked. So Zelda’s real name was Beverly. It was a cute name, and it put him in the mind for red-heads. He wondered if she was a red-head. Should he ask her?
He stood up again and sat down at his computer, his hand hovering above the mouse, but to his surprise the computer monitor woke before he touched it to a black screen.
But it didn’t stay blank.
[Hey, I’ve been waiting for you] the letters appeared on the screen one by one as Tib stared in horror.
He squeaked. Them, this was them! His fingers were trembling as he replied to the message, and he stumbled over the keys. [hwo are you?]
[Good question, kid. I’m Sparks, but more importunately, Who… are… you?]
Tib frowned at the question. It reminded him of the old Disney Alice in Wonderland with the creepy opium-smoking caterpillar. [Don’t you know who I am?]
[Sure do. But do you know who you are?]
He got irritated with whoever was behind this suddenly. It was ridiculous. [Stop talking in riddles! I’m J_Tiberius_K, now tell mne hwo you ar e and what your’;e doing in my computer!] He winced at all the typing errors and regretted that he couldn’t fix them.
[Twelve days ago, you followed a series of links pertaining to a person named Morpheus, indicating that you wanted to know more. It said you’d be contacted. This is that contact.]
Tib froze at the confirmation. Even with his assumption, there had been some doubt as if this was just some hacker’s idea of a joke. Heck it still could be. [Well then?]
[If you want to know more the White Knight will be waiting]
Tib stared at the screen. The White Knight? The caterpillar’s question? The White Knight…
[You mean that all-night diner?] He asked, but there came no reply, and his screen switched back to his desktop, Harry Potter themed for the moment with Hermione Granger wallpaper, a lovely fanart by somebody or another.
Tib stared. They were probably still watching him. He crashed his computer and turned the monitor off. He needed to think. The White Knight was the name of an all-night, greasy spoon diner a fifteen-minute walk from his house, Tib was relatively sure that was meant as some sort of a meeting place. If he went there he might find out more about what had happened to BBK, on the other hand, if he went he might get kidnapped into the cult of Morpheus as well. He bit his lip. Tib remembered the article that Blackbird_King had been looking at. The one that had said ‘known to use biblical and literary references to catch the interest of intelligent youths’. It had also said that if anyone thought they’d been contacted they should call the police.
He knew he should call, but, what a big mess that would be, and he’d have to explain the whole thing to his mother, who, with his luck would then take his computer away from him. And if the police got involved he might never find Blackbird_King!
Tib steeled himself. He would have to go. He could protect himself, he knew, if worse came to worse. Unless they had guns in which case he was toast, and who these days fought with out guns? And if they wanted him alive…Tib had a vision of himself in the diner, talking with a man, while someone from the shadows tagged him in the shoulder with a tranquilizer dart.
He looked over at his door. “Oh Lara, what should I do?”
She seemed to be saying ‘go for it’, and he knew he had to. People in books and comics did it all the time, faced their fears, an unknown enemy alone in the night. He couldn’t back down or all he’d ever be was a cringing little fanboy. And, much as he loved being a fanboy and didn’t really have any aspirations to be anything else, he didn’t want to be known, even to himself as a cringing, sniveling coward. He wanted to be a brave fanboy, who tried his best to emulate the characters he admired.
So he stood up, he would go forth the young hero, but he wouldn’t go forth the fool. He pulled his coat out of his closet, an ankle-length grey affair with a high collar, and slipped his feet into his sneakers, tying them tightly. He picked up a ring of keys and his wallet off the dresser, putting them into his jeans pocket. Tib briefly toyed with the idea of wearing one of the old-fashioned fedora hats he liked to keep to complete the outfit, but decided against it. He rubbed his hands together, and went out into the hall, closing his door silently behind. Across the hall, and slightly to the right was his mother’s room, the door ajar.
He’d trained himself in the arts of silence, and he used them now as he slipped into his mother’s room and took the cell phone from her dresser. He turned as he was leaving, seeing the still-pretty form of his mother lying asleep in her bed, untroubled. He closed his eyes in a wordless, godless prayer for her peace, and departed, his coat swishing behind him. He pulled the door back to the way it had been set, and stole off down the hall to the front door. His hand was on the knob when he ran swiftly and quietly back to his room and pulled his hat on. Why not, after all, if he was going to play the hero? He grabbed a deep blue umbrella as well, though he didn’t know if it was supposed to rain. He could use it as a weapon if he had to, and he thought to himself looking at the mirror on the back of his closet, the entire outfit made him look quite the mysterious hero. He grinned and headed back to the front door.
He pulled the hat further over his eyes, unlocked the door and set out into the deep of night, locking it behind him. He walked quickly and purposefully down the street, trying to get as much distance from his home as quickly as he could. What his mother would say if she knew about this…
Tib shook his head and reached in his pocket, feeling the cell-phone for reassurance, but he also found a small piece of paper there as well. Frowning, he stopped, leaning by a streetlamp and pulled it out. He inspected the paper, and smiled slightly. It was the phone number Mikhail had given him earlier that day.
The Russian was strange, but friendly, and Tib couldn’t help feeling he trusted the young man. What was it he’d said? ‘Call me anytime. I do not sleep either.’ Tib nodded, memorizing the number. He would call him after the meeting, or if things went awry.
He started walking again, and was soon on an avenue that was full of little shops and restaurants. He sighed as he passed a Starbucks, wishing it was open so he could get one of his favorite sugar-overdose frozen thingies. No doubt the White Knight would serve nothing but coffee that’s been sitting for hours. He passed the used bookshop he frequented, and often chatted with the owner, Dan. but it was dark, and closed and forbidding at this hour. The only thing still open, was the diner he was approaching, with its ugly neon sign and chess piece logo.
The diner was brightly lit and as Tib pushed the door open he was assaulted by fluorescent light. He winced and looked around. The only people here were two old men, probably homeless. He sighed, and sat down at a booth in the corner. It was possible he’d mistaken the clue, though not likely. it was also possible that he hadn’t been supposed to figure it out right away in which case no one would be here. But that was fine, Tib would wait for half an hour and if no one showed, he’d go home and come back tomorrow. He’d keep coming back until he found these people or was thoroughly convinced it was all a prank of some sort. He took off his hat, and set it on the tabletop, and put the umbrella beside him.
“Can I getcha anything hon?” a dumpy waitress asked, startling him from him reverie.
“Um, coffee, just some coffee,” he said shakily.
“Uh-huh. Just a sec kid,” she meandered off back behind the counter and Tib returned to staring at the table, trying to fight off a bout of nerves.
“Here ya go,” she plunked a mug down in front of him and poured coffee into it from a stained pot. She walked away.
Tib sniffed the coffee. Yeah, it was scorched, it had probably been simmering for maybe four hours. He picked up the sugar and tipped it over the glass, watching the white powder pour into his coffee, turning it almost to syrup. Then he poured in two little plastic containers of cream, thinning it down again slightly. He picked up the mug in both hands, and it warmed them. He sipped the coffee, feeling its saccharine thickness roll down his throat and, warm his face.
He sighed.
“J_Tiberius_K,” came a voice.
Tib looked up; standing there was a woman, dark skin and trendy hair, in sunglasses and a leather coat. Sunglasses at night. This had to be the contact.
to be continued…
Chapter 6: The Truth?
A/N: Ah, chapter six. Will Tib become a rebel? Find out!
Disclaimer: The Matrix is owned by Warner Bros. and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by myself and Stormhawk. Tib, Zelda, and Blackbird_King are mine. Movies, songs, web-pages, books, etcetera belong to their respective creators unless otherwise mentioned.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 6…The Truth
Tib looked up at the contact, sleek, attractive, action-hero type lady. No mistaking her for the damsel in distress. A moment of panic washed over the fanboy, followed quickly by resolve. He lifted his chin.
“Yes, that’s me,” He motioned for her to sit down. “Who are you?”
She seated herself, managing to look just as dangerous in the new posture. Tib tried to draw himself up and look impressive, but, he thought he probably failed miserably. He felt slightly sick to his stomach, and the aftertaste of his sweet coffee had come back to haunt him.
“My name is Niobe, and I have come to show you the truth.” She had both hands resting on the table, her fingers forming a pyramid.
The dust-haired boy swallowed quietly. He found himself about to ask what truth she meant, but bit the question back. That wasn’t what he was here for. He was here to find his friend, Blackbird_King and find out if these people had them. Lacking a decent plan he tried the direct approach.
“That’s all well and good,” he said, trying to sound confident, nonchalant even, “but I have a different question to ask you.”
Niobe raised an eyebrow, seeming incredulous. “What question?”
“What happened to Blackbird_King?”
She looked genuinely puzzled, and Tib felt his determination falter.
“I- you don’t know?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
Tib grimaced, but continued. They probably didn’t remember him; they probably didn’t have the time to remember everyone who came in contact with them. “He was a friend of mine on line, we emailed back and forth more than once a day, and then one day he just disappeared. I did a little investigating, and one of the last places he visited was a site that lead me to contact you, because I think I did the same.”
The woman frowned. “The name doesn’t sound familiar, but I can check for you.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Niobe stood up. “I’ll be right back.” She walked out of the diner.
***
Niobe took out her cell phone. So this kid had only contacted them because his friend then, but that didn’t matter, they needed to free all the minds they could. Sparks had said that on a small level the boy was already aware of the matrix, and he seemed a perfect candidate in a lot of other respects as well.
“Sparks,”
“Hey captain,” the operator greeted cheerily.
“See if you can pull up a file on Blackbird_King.”
“Thought you might need that, I already got it up.”
Niobe pursed her lips. “If you thought I’d need it why didn’t you give it to me before I left?”
“Well, uh, you see it’s not really good news…”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Just tell me already.”
“He’s a traitor, an agent recruit. Name of Vincent Greer. Came to the rendezvous and tore the place apart.”
She scowled. “Wonderful.” She closed the phone and stalked back into the diner. The boy was looking at her hopefully, and uncertainly. She sat back down.
“Your friend did contact us, but he didn’t want to hear the truth. We have no record of him after he rejected that truth.”
Niobe watched as J_Tiberius_K’s face fell, and a split second afterwards his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
***
She said they didn’t know anything else, but Tib could feel it, she was lying. He couldn’t believe that they’d just let someone go. Had they killed him? Or maybe she was just claiming to know what he was talking about, and had made it up to keep him interested, although, if that, why not say he’d joined?
Tib bit his lip. “Can you tell me,” he asked, “what his real name was?”
She appeared to hesitate, but replied “According to our records it was Vincent Greer.”
The fanboy’s jaw literally dropped. Vincent Greer, from high school, for real? He had entertained the unlikely possibility for a moment but… “You’re kidding!”
“Why would I be?” She paused. “Listen, Tib, may I call you Tib? This meeting was arranged for one reason. Do you want to meet with Morpheus and learn the Truth?”
Tib continued to stare at her, lost in his own thoughts. He could find him now, if Vincent really was BBK, follow the name through the real world. How could she be lying? Unless they new a hell of a lot more about him…the chances of saying the name at random were astronomically low. But he forced himself to push that information to the back of his mind; he needed to focus on the decision. What about this Morpheus, and this truth? Did it interest him at all? He couldn’t decide. Before this meeting he was firmly convinced that this was some sort of cult, he still thought it was, pretty much. But meeting this representative, it had him a bit intrigued, a bit curious, much as he hated to admit it. It was dangerous, he knew, but this Morpheus, he was so mysterious, everyone wanted to meet him. Tib remembered now little references in conversations going back years, mentioning the name. Surely it would be a thrill to see this person nobody could find. And what was the harm in listening for a little while, Niobe seemed really cool, like the female lead in an action video game, like Lara Croft.
His heroes would all go for it in an instant, you couldn’t just back away from a mystery at this stage. So there was danger, what was life without a thrill?
And besides Tib knew without a doubt if he left now, he would spend the rest of his life agonizing over what the great secret of Morpheus was. It was like in ‘The Magician’s Nephew’ by C.S. Lewis and the bit of poetry that had stayed with him since he read it in fifth grade. ‘Make your choice, adventurous Stranger; Strike the bell and bide the danger, Or wonder, till it drives you mad, What would have followed if you had.’
He grimaced. This was something he had to do, or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. But, he promised himself, he was just going to listen, he was not going to join.
“I-I’ll meet with him,” he said, his hands beginning to shake.
Niobe smiled for the first time, and Tib noticed it made her even more attractive. She leaned closer to him, and he noticed she smelled faintly of honey. He couldn’t help blushing, even though she was probably like ten years older than him.
“Good,” she said. “Now listen to me, three days from now, be at the corner of Field and Pembroke at 10:15 pm. Understand?”
He nodded slowly. “Alright.”
Niobe stood, and his eyes followed her upward. “We’ll be waiting for you Tib,” she said, more gently than she had spoken before.
Tib nodded again, unable to find a suitable reply.
The woman turned and stalked out of the diner, her red leather coat flapping behind her, and Tib wondered what in the name of the Valar he’d just done.
***
Tib must have sat there, just staring at his coffee, for at least ten minutes. By the time he picked it up to take a sip, it was stone cold. The waitress sauntered over, it was a different woman, Tib must have failed to notice the shift change. The old men were gone too.
“You want some more coffee?” the woman asked.
“No,” he said dully, then asked. “Could you tell me what time it is?”
Her eyes, Tib noticed her nametag said ‘Mal’, darted up to the clock on the wall. “‘S 3:56.”
Tib winced. “Thanks,” he said with a grimace, the woman was already gone, she had left the bill. Without bothering to look at it, he put five dollars under the mug, picked up his hat and left the White Knight.
There was absolutely no one outside, and a deep chill cut through the air. Tib pulled his high collar closer around, and shove the hat down over his eyes. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and his left discovered his phone, his mother’s phone. Memory cut through his stupefied haze. Mikhail, he was going to call him after the meeting. Never mind that he really only met him this morning. Never mind that he was probably exaggerating when he said he didn’t sleep. But he’d heard of Morpheus, and he seemed to know more than he let on.
Tib pulled the cell phone and the slip of paper from his pocket. In the lights of the diner Tib just barely managed to make out the number. He dialed it into the phone’s glowing pad.
He was very startled when someone picked up on the first ring. But it was a woman’s voice, not Mikhail’s and the accent was British, not Russian. “Hello?”
“Um,” Tib’s hands trembled. “I’m calling for Mikhail, is he awake?”
“Yes he is, just a moment,” Tib heard her cover the phone’s mouthpiece, and then yell loudly, “Oy, Mikky! Call for you!”
A moment later came a thick Russian accent over the phone. “Hello?”
“Mikhail, it’s me, Tib, I mean, David, David Madison” he half whispered.
“Dahvedt? It is good to hear you, buht, you sound dhistressed. Is somethink wrong?”
“I just talked to someone from Morpheus, they want me to meet him.”
There was a silence.
“Where are you?” Mikhail demanded.
“I’m at the White Knight Diner…why?” an uneasy feeling grew in the pit of Tib’s stomach.
“I vill pick you uhp in five minutes. Stay outside, and ifv you see any men in blahck suits, I adwise you to run very fast.”
Tib’s voice stuck in his throat. “O-okay.”
“I ahm going to hang up now. If I am noht there in five minutes, run home.”
“Alright, see you.”
Mikhail hung up, and Tib, very much shaken, shoved the phone, and his hands, in his pockets. He was now doubly uncertain. Men in suits? The FBI perhaps? He grimaced. What on earth had he gotten himself into? He could have just let the whole thing go, he could have called the police, he could have done any number of things that he hadn’t done.
But no, he had to go about this like he was the hero in some video game, like there was a reset button he could push, like he could save and quit any time he liked.
Tib took a deep breath. It was too late now, wasn’t it? Too late to go back, so he might as well make the best of it, play it to the hilt so to speak. Hopefully Mikhail would have some new information for him.
As he stood there in the cold he kept looking over his shoulder, his movements twitchy, expecting government agents to pop out at him at any moment.
Tib spotted the weak headlights of a car approaching as it slowed, and stopped in front of him. It was a boxy red car, two-doors, foreign-made and exceptionally small. Tib had never seen the particular model before. Tib couldn’t see who was in it, due to the glare of the streetlights.
Someone rolled down the window, and the small fanboy stood in apprehension until he saw Mikhail’s concerned face looking out at him.
“Nice ouhtfit,” the Russian greeted. “Get in.”
Tib hurried around the car and got into the cramped passenger seat. Mikhail started driving practically before he’d closed the door. He shifted uncomfortably as he buckled his seat belt, the seat felt like it was made of shrink-wrapped cardboard.
“Um, hey Mikhail,” Tib said nervously.
“Hello Davedt.” He fell silent for a moment then, “Did you find your friend?”
“Sort of. They said he didn’t go with them. But I found out his real name.”
“Ah. That is good at least. You are in grave danger my friend.”
His eyes widened slightly, despite the fact that he already figured as much. “From who?”
“From everyone Davedt.”
“What?”
“You haf stumbled into the middle of a wahr of two and half armies.”
“What do you mean?” Tib had hoped Mikhail would explain things to him, not confuse him more.
Mikhail shook his head. “This I cannot answer you. Tell me, do you plahn to meet Morpheus?”
He nodded slowly. “But I’m just going to listen, not join the cult or anything.”
The Russian sighed. “You mean that at the moment my friend, but I do noht know if you will mean it when the time comes.” He pulled up in front of Tib’s house. Mikhail put a hand on his shoulder. “Davedt, I vill noht make your decisions for you, but you must remember that there are some that cannot be unmade. Remember also that unless a time comes when it is impossible, I will always be around to talk, and you are always welcome to call me.”
Tib sat in dazed silence, the nodded. “Thank you Mikhail.”
“No problem kid.”
Tib opened the door and climbed out. He waved once back at the car before unlocking the door and walking in. He closed it behind him, standing in the hallway, and stopped.
He hadn’t told Mikhail where he lived.
Tib put his head in his hands, why were things like this happening to him? He shuffled into the kitchen, and whipped his coat off, throwing it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He slumped down in it, setting his hat on the table.
So Blackbird_King was Vincent Greer. Whoopee. What was he going to do about it? He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them. What was he going to do?
***
Tib must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, his mother’s hand was on his shoulder. He winced, and swore mentally.
His mother sighed. “Up all night again, David? I should have known.” She sat down next to him. “Baby we need to talk.”
He looked at her blearily.
“You’re not well David, and I know, it’s partly my fault, and damn if it isn’t partly your father’s fault as well.” She paused. “Am I a bead mother, David?”
He shook his head, confused.
“I’m sorry, honey, but, I’ve tried everything, and I know, I know you’re going to be upset, but it’s for your own good. David, I’m taking you to see a doctor. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Chapter 7: The Hospital
A/N: Sorry about the length of time between the last chapter and this.
Disclaimer: The Matrix is owned by Warner Bros. and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by myself and Stormhawk. Tib, Zelda, and Blackbird_King are mine. Movies, songs, web-pages, books, etcetera belong to their respective creators unless otherwise mentioned.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 7…
Tib felt a queasy, unreasoning panic fill his stomach. He stared at his mother in disbelief and dismay.
“The h-hospital?” he managed. “But-“
She shook her head and took his hand. “I’m sorry dear, but you have to believe me, this is for your own good. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. All you ever do is play with that computer of yours. It’s out of my hands.”
Tib’s brown eyes stayed trained on his mother, unable to quite process the data he was being given. His mind wrestled with the concept and came up with an answer.
“You can’t send me to the hospital, I’m over eighteen. You can’t do it without my consent,” he sputtered.
His mother sighed. “You’re right David, I can’t. But I can tell you, that if you want to stay living in this house you’ll check yourself in.”
Now was the time for snap decisions. On the one hand, if he chose to leave his mother’s house, where would he go? On the other hand if he went, he wouldn’t be able to make his meeting with Morpheus.
He wouldn’t have to face that decision brewing inside him, not really. Because he wasn’t choosing not to go, per se, he was choosing to not be able to go. That was different, right?
Was the hospital beyond there reach?
These thought swam about his head, colliding with one another all in the space of a moment, until he said…
“I’ll go.”
As soon as the worlds were out of his mouth, his mother threw her arms around him. And then he gulped, wondering for the second time that morning what in the name of the Valar he’d gotten himself into.
***
Getting checked in didn’t seem to take any time at all, he was given some paper work to sign, and then escorted to a small sterile room that was to be his for…as long as he was there.
Tib buried his face in his pillow. He was an in-patient! He was a psych ward in-patient! It was the small hours of the morning, and after contacting a group of terrorists with a literature fetish in an all-night diner he had let his mom talk him into checking in as a mental patient!
What the hell had he been thinking? He groaned into the pillow.
But really deep down he knew why he’d done it. It was a release from responsibility. Just like his mother had wanted not to be responsible for her son, he too had wanted to deny all responsibility for himself.
He wasn’t responsible for going to school, or for his thousand and one things to be done on the internet, nor for looking for Blackbird_King, or for stupid whacko cult recruiters, or strange disappearing Russians. All of those things were out of his control.
After all, he was crazy, and the crazy can’t be expected to control things.
That was the release that a part of him had longed for, just to be free of all the shit that went on in his life. It was in the doctors’ hands now.
Tib wasn’t sure though, how much comfort that gave him.
He rolled over, onto his back and stared up at the ceiling through his dirty glasses. It was somewhere close to six in the morning, his first counseling session wouldn’t be until this afternoon, and a nurse would come get him for that. Some time before that one would come and try to force some food on him, most likely. The thought turned his stomach.
Lying there in the white hospital bed, in room E-401 of the psych ward, Tib thought about going to sleep. He hadn’t slept in, he had no idea how long any more. Days. And laying there was only making him more restless. He stood up. He’d been told by the nurse that he was free to use the patient lounge area if he liked.
Wooee. Time to meet the other crazies.
Dressed in a plain baggy white t-shirt and jeans, he opened the door, grateful he hadn’t been put into a hospital gown. Yet, at least. He wandered down the empty corridor to the vaguely open room at it’s end. The back of a brown couch faced him, and he could see several more couches and chairs, a table with some books and magazines on it, and a large TV set. In the far corner was a nook with a glass shield, a little office for the nurse on duty, who was typing away at a computer. There didn’t seem to be any other people. Wouldn’t it be funny if he was the only insomniac currently in the ward?
As he walked around to the other side, to sit down on the couch, he saw the nurse look up questioningly, he nodded in greeting, and began to sit.
“Eep!”
Tin straightened, surprised, to say the least, and whipped around, looking down at the cushions of the couch. There was a small girl there, curled up into an even smaller form. In her hands she clutched a small, ill-sewn rag doll with black yarn hair. The little girl herself had pixie-cut blonde hair and big, soulful brown eyes; she didn’t look more than eight years old.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tib replied quickly. He couldn’t help staring at her. Why was such a little child in this place?
“Its okay, you didn’t see me,” The girl averted her eyes, distraught, playing with her dolls hair. “Nobody sees me,” she said quietly, “I’m invisible.”
Tib wasn’t sure how to respond. It wasn’t a situation he had a lot of practice with; children in general, mental ones in specific.
He flushed, embarrassed, and thought about just going back to his room. But was it right for him to just leave a little girl sitting there all by herself?
“Ah, I, do you mind if I sit down?” he asked, “or would you rather be alone?”
The girl just looked at him with her over-large eyes, and shrugged.
Tib’s lips parted slightly, caught in indecision. If he sat down it would most likely be in a very uncomfortable silence, but going back to his room meant there was nothing to do but sit there. Or possibly try to sleep. He forced a smile at the girl, (she obviously wasn’t dangerous, or they’d have her in another ward) and sat down.
She looked at him, penetratingly.
“Erm, my name’s David…” he said.
“No it’s not!” she snapped. “You shouldn’t lie to me.”
He was taken aback, and shifted uncomfortably. “Um, well… some people call me Tib.”
She nodded, seemingly placated. The girl sat there, playing with her doll’s hair.
Tib pressed his thumbs together nervously, and tried not to stare at her.
After a moment, without looking up, she asked, “Why are you here Tib?”
“Um, well…” he adjusted his glasses. Why was he here? Because of his mother? Because of Blackbird_King and Morpheus? What if none of it was real? It was so fantastic, it couldn’t be real. But it was. Wasn’t it. “Because I don’t eat much, I suppose. Or sleep.”
“I don’t like sleep much either,” she confided. “Why don’t you eat?”
“I’m not hungry, I suppose. Sometimes I guess, it’s like I don’t need to eat.”
“Huh.”
They lapsed back into silence.
Was it strange, how little he ate? He never felt hungry. Most days the thought of food just made him sick. Maybe he really was one of those few male anorexics.
The sleep, though, that had a good reason behind it. He was much too busy on the net to have time to sleep. And when he did have time he was too keyed up and anxious to do so. These days he was just plain twitchy.
“My name’s Maiyumi,” the girl said suddenly, breaking him from his reverie.
Tib blinked. “It’s nice to meet you,” he replied.
She nodded, and they were silent again for a while.
Finally it was more than he could bear. He turned to her. “Would you like to watch some TV?”
“Okay.”
He stood, and picked the remote off of the table, turning the power on.
“Make my monster grow!” the television shrieked.
Tib snorted. Power Rangers. He turned to Maiyumi. “Is this okay with you?”
“Sure.”
He slumped back down beside her on the couch.
***
Several hours later Tib was back in his own small room. He and Maiyumi had watched television for quite a while, though neither had spoken to the other again. But slowly other people had drifted into the patients lounge and Tib had grown increasingly uncomfortable. Among the patients he had met were Jenny a college student who had been brought in for stalking her Theology teacher, Sean, a supposedly harmless paranoid schizophrenic who believed that any day the Venusians would free him, and Thomas an older man who was bipolar. They seemed nice enough for the most part; Jenny was very talkative, and insisted on reading him a large number of the poems she had written for her professor. Sean on the other hand, kept asking him if he was sure he’d never seen a alien.
Tib had been very much the center of attention, being the new person, and everyone seemed to want a piece of him. It was when he’d met the last members of the delightful psych-ward posse that he’d folded under the pressure. A man, probably forty or so, impeccably groomed with sandy hair and a neat beard, had strolled into the room. The man had walked up to Tib, shook his hand and very politely introduced himself as Alan Greene. Alan had a scholarly air about him, and was amazed that this seemingly calm, level-headed, charismatic was in this place. Finally, after a conversation that touched on such subjects as their current accommodations, and the stupidity of the talk show that Jenny was enjoying, Tib had to ask what the man was doing in the ward.
Alan had then, dropping his voice slightly, said, “well, you see, it’s because of Lancelot.”
Tib blinked. “Lancelot?” he’d asked confused.
“Yes, Sir Lancelot. You’ll meet him eventually, I’d wager. The doctors all insist that I have multiple-personality disorder. But you see, we are in the latter days of the earth, David, and Arthur, the once and future king, will be waking up soon. I am the reincarnation of Sir Lancelot of the round table and every once in a while, my past self takes over to look for the kind. Damned incontinent if you ask me. Why the first time I regressed I was in the middle of a date at a nice French restaurant. Terribly disoriented the boy was, left my date, wandered around demanding to know where and when he was, apparently. Even challenged a waiter to honorable combat. Next thing I remember is being at the police station.”
It was at this point in the conversation that Tib had made his excuses as politely as he could, and came back here, to his room.
Tib heaved a sigh, slumped over the edge of his bed, and looked drearily up at the digital clock. This was just the most normal month in the history of the world, wasn’t it? First BBK disappears, then you trace him to a cult, then you meet a weirdo Russian who disappears and knows stuff, then you meet the cult, and then you go to the hospital.
It had seemed like the right decision when he’d made it, but wasn’t that always the way with such things? Did anyone deliberately make a bad decision? Just this morning before the diner, he’d been gearing himself up about not being a coward, and then what did he do but take the coward’s way out! Didn’t he want to know what had happened to Blackbird_King? To Vincent? Hadn’t he said he wanted to meet Morpheus? And then he’s chucked it away in a moment of unreasoning panic!
But what was he supposed to do? His mom was going to kick him out. Tib choked at that thought. He was so pitiful, almost nineteen, in college and worrying about living in his mom’s house. Surely Mikhail would have let him crash with him until he could find some place else. Why oh why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? And now he would be stuck here until they saw fit to release him!
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
What about his friend on the net? He didn’t have any way of letting them know where he was. Zelda, Zelda would think that he’d disappeared like Vincent! And, oh god, he’d told her to go straight to the FBI hadn’t he? He’d make both of them look like idiots, if she went to them, talking about mysterious cults and disappearances, and her source of information was found in the nut ward!
He’d have to hope that she wouldn’t be stupid like him, and would at least call his house before she jumped to conclusions.
Meanwhile what could he do? They wouldn’t let him out until they were satisfied that he wasn’t crazy. That meant, well, first and foremost he would say nothing, nothing! about Morpheus or about BBK. Secondly, he would have to eat, all his food, every time they gave it to him, and at least pretend to sleep. If he acted absolutely and completely normal, maybe just maybe he’d be out before his meeting. After all, this wasn’t some big facility, this was just the state hospital. He’d have one evaluation in two days, and another three days after that. He’d be out in a week at the most. That was, if he could keep his food down and lie in bed with his eyes closed for eight hours at a stretch. But really what other choices did he have?
to be continued…
Chapter 8: Friends
A/N: This chapter has more of Zelda and intros a new character. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: The Matrix is owned by Warner Bros. and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by myself and Stormhawk. Tib, Beverly/Zelda, Mikhail (and all the people in his house) are mine. Movies, songs, web-pages, books, etcetera belong to their respective creators unless otherwise mentioned.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 8… Friends
Tib’s head lolled on the pillow. That had gone surprisingly badly, he decided. ‘That’ being his first counseling session. Despite having choked down more than a third of his nauseating hospital lunch in plain view of the nurse. Obviously his new psychologist, Doctor Harris, thought him to be a very twitchy person, and Harris had definitely seen how little sleep and food Tib had been getting. The fanboy had been forced to field questions about his home life, the death of his father and how it had affected him, and most unpleasantly, about the Bully incident, and what that little number had done to his psyche. Each question had made him more and more uncomfortable, and less sure of himself and his resolve. On top of that, lunch had been rolling around his stomach the entire time.
The session had lasted two hours, until five, and fifteen minutes later his mom had shown up. She came bearing gifts from his room, those things that she could get through the Doctors’ scrutiny. He was stuck with no internet and now no video-games. He was lucky that she’d brought some of his novels and comics, rather than just clothes. But he was too exhausted from the mental inquisition and everything that had happened in the last day to think about reading. And so he just curled up in the bed.
It was six o’clock now. Tib wondered what his online friends were doing. Were they worrying about him? Zelda was, almost definitely. But what about his role-playing partner, Rainblood, or the crowd? And what of Mikhail? It was less than twelve hours since the Russian had come to get him at the White Knight, and given him a second round of cryptic warnings. And how exactly did Mikhail know where he lived? Was he really with Morpheus after all? But if he was, why was he warning him about careful choices? What was it he had said when they’d met?
‘The vorld is strange Dahvedt, and you are getting yourself into one of the strangest parts. For all you know I could be a goblin from hell come to devour your soul.’
Tib shivered at the remembered words, and rolled over onto his still queasy stomach. The Russian was so strange, and Tib didn’t know why he trusted him as much as he did. Sense said not to, but Mikhail’s personality was such that it was almost impossible not to like him.
The fanboy sighed deeply into his sterile pillow. Had Mikhail missed him at college today? Had anybody? Would anyone but Zelda notice he was gone?
He lay on the bed, drifting in his anxious thoughts. His last one, before he fell into unconsciousness for the first time in 56 hours was ‘Oh dear Tallest, please let Zelda have the sense not to call the FBI yet.’
***
“Hi, you’ve reached the Madison family, unfortunately, we can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can. Bye.”
Beeeeeeeeeeep.
Beverly set the phone down in it’s cradle rather more forcefully than necessary, but after two hours of trying, lucklessly, to reach Tib, she didn’t think anyone would blame her. And woe betide them if they did. She bit her lip, the hollow feeling in her stomach had grown and grown as she tried, and now it felt as though there were a black hole where her digestive system had once been.
This was not good. This was so very not good.
She paced the living room rug for three lapse, and then collapsed on the couch, dislodging Spooky from where he had been sitting.
“Meooow,” he complained loudly.
“Sorry Spook,” she apologized, draping her arms over the arm of the couch, her red hair falling in her eyes. “But I’ve got more important things to worry about right now.”
The black fuzzball jumped in her lap anyway. She sighed.
“What would you do, Spooky?” she asked the cat.
He looked at her with big, green eyes and yawned.
“That’s right, you wouldn’t do anything, would you? But I have to. I promised after all. And I’m really worried about him, you know. What if they really got him, those cult people? What if he needs my help? But I can’t just call the FBI and tell them I think somebody disappeared just because they haven’t been on the internet in one whole day. They’d laugh at me.”
Beverly looked down at the floor with blue eyes. She was the only one at home right now, her mom and dad had gone out to Maine for a week or so, to visit a friend of her mother’s. Bev had school so she was left at home. She hadn’t wanted to go, anyway.
Suddenly Beverly had what she decided was a very bad idea. She had Tib’s address, she could take the car and drive out and see what had happened. It was only 4:30, and it would only take a bit more than two hours to get there. She could be there by seven if she left now, and be back with plenty of time to get to sleep for school. That was if everything was alright. If it wasn’t, well, she’d deal with that problem when she got to it.
But should she?
She looked down at her cat.
Spooky was asleep.
Well, she wasn’t doing any good just sitting here. And what was the harm? No one would know that she’d gone. She was almost eighteen, she’d had her license for just over a year and was a responsible driver. It wasn’t like she was going to skip school. And it was for a definite good cause. She had to make sure Tib was alright. And when she got back she’d feel very silly, because he’d have been sick in bed, or visiting an aunt. That was it. She was going to go.
She stood up suddenly, dislodging Spooky yet again.
“Reeoaww!” he complained.
“Sorry Spook, I’ve gotta go. I’ll be back really soon though.” She dashed to her room quickly, grabbing her keys, and her purse, slipping on her shoes. But she paused. Plans could go wrong, and there was always the small chance that Tib was really in trouble. She should at least let somebody know where she was going. She grabbed the phone again and dialed this number by heart.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Tina, this is Bev,” she said.
“Oh, hey B,” Tina greeted. “are you okay, you sound a bit short of breath.”
“I’m kinda in a hurry, Tina. Listen, you remember how I told you one of my online friends was messing in this cult stuff?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, he hasn’t been online in… a while, and he only lives a few hours away, so I’m going to go check on him, okay?”
“You’re going to meet somebody off the net? Are you crazy B?” she demanded.
“Look, I’ve met him before,” Beverly lied. “Just listen. I should be back by tonight, but I wanted you to know I was going just in case. I’ll call you when I get back.”
“Uh-uh. No way, you are not leaving me holding the bag like this.”
“Tina, this is something I have to do. I’ll give you the address and phone number of where I’m going, if that’ll make you feel better.” She wasn’t sure she should be going around giving out Tib’s personal information like that, but this was a tough situation.
“Well…okay,” Tina finally relented, “but you had better be in school tomorrow B.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, and then read off the address.
They said their goodbyes quickly, at Beverly’s insistence, and she hung up the phone and hurried out the door.
She was going to meet J_Tiberius_K.
***
Mikhail was sprawled cross-wise in his dilapidated paisley armchair, toying with a red yo-yo, dropping the wheel, and catching it rather skillessly. In the corner of the room a very large, but many years old television set was showing a rather fuzzy X-files rerun to a less than rapt audience. One of the Russian’s roommates was sitting on a heavily duct-taped plaid couch, half-watching the show, and half rereading some hack detective novel. She was a short, slightly pudgy young woman with a genial face and wavy cinnamon-colored hair. She looked up from her book at Mikahil.
“Oi, Mikky,” she called him.
He didn’t respond, staring off into space.
Vivelle sighed and stood up, walking the few paces across the room, and bapped the man lightly on the head with her novel.
Mikhail startled and dropped the yo-yo completely. He looked up.
“Ah! Now vhat hev you gone and done thet for?” he asked, rubbing his head in mock pain.
Vivelle rolled her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong luv,” she demanded, in a rather flat cockney accent.
“Bah! I do not know what you are talking about, eh?” he looked down at the floor, and waved his arm at his yo-yo, trying to reach it without having to get up. But it was useless.
“You’re worried about somethin’, Mik, don’t go trying to ‘ide it from me.” She placed her hands on her hips smartly.
He threw his arms up in defeat, both at Vivelle and at the yo-yo. “Yes, you hev caught me. I am vorried about Daveht, he vas noht in cless today.”
She pursed her lips, trying to place the name. “You mean the kid who called last night an’ was meetin’ with the rebel boys?”
“The same.”
“Think ‘e went with them?”
“It is pohsible. I do noht know vehn his meeting vas. He did noht tell me.”
Vivelle crossed her arms in thought. “Well, if you’re that worried bout ‘im Mik, why don’t ya swing by ‘is ‘ouse an see if ‘e’s there.”
Mikhail nodded, sitting up properly in the chair. “That I think I vill do. Vhere is Rosemand?”
“Upstairs, you know ‘e can’t stand the X-files.”
“Of course, how silly ohf me. Ahnd Tempus?”
“Out chain smokin’ in some alley as always. Probably scarin’ small children for fun. Honestly.” She shook her head. “I don know why you put up with ‘im luv, I really don’t.”
“Because ve muhst stick together. You know thet.”
“So that when they do decide to come and bump us off they only have to go one place?”
“You sound like Rosemand. Ve are femily, Vivelle. Noht blood, but close enough, and ve are stronger together. If you vant to leave like your sister…” the suggestion hung in the air like a threat.
“No!” Vivelle denied. “I’m sorry Mikky. You’re just making me edgy is all. ‘Angin’ around with prospective rebels ain’t a real good way to keep outta sight. Maybe more trouble than it’s worth.”
The Russian sighed. “Perheps you are right, my loup-garou.” He stood up. “I vill make you a promise. If he hez gone with them, then I vill let the metter drop.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “An’ no mopin’ about?”
He held up his hands. “No moping. Promise.” He grinned.
“Ah, get goin’ you big ‘umbug,” she said with a smirk.
He nodded. “I em taking the car.”
“Why don’t you just…” she made a twisting motion, as if turning a key.
“Vhat ken I say? I like to drihve.”
“Yeah, but that bucket?” she asked with distaste.
“Hey! I heppen to like my car. It reminds me of home.”
The car in question was a red 1973 Yugo, a two-door, roughly the size of a refrigerator with seats like cardboard. It had once sold quite well in the Soviet Union.
“Alright, alight luv. You’d better get goin’ then, if you don’t want it to get to late.”
“I vill see you later then.”
“Good luck Mik.”
He headed out the door.
To be continued…
