Steel and Leather

[jackofallgeeks]

Outside the run down tenement the storm had subsided slightly, enough that the sounds of passing cars and periodic gunfire could be heard over the rattle of rain against the dirt-smudged windows and drafty wallboards. Inside was a network of dimly lit rooms, boarded-up doorways and rotting floorboards. The place smelled like piss and vomit, and was a nest for rats and the half-mad. Just like home, thought Diastole. He stood at one end of a small, dark room on the fourth floor; the windows were boarded over and none of the doorways had doors in them. There was a moth-eaten rug sitting in the middle of the room, a sunken-in couch against the windows, and a single naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Diastole stood resolute, detached. He was in this world, but not of it; he was an independent in the Cold War around him, unburdened, unattached, uncontrolled. Free. it was actually something of Zen-state, he thought. Diastole was one of an elite group, Awake in a land of Dreams. He saw the world around him and saw it for what it was, illusions and chains, because his eyes had been open to Reality; humankind was enslaved by the machines that fed off of them, and this world was just so many lies constructed to make them believe... whatever it was they wanted to believe. And people are so very good at that. He thought. He was first Awoken, like most others, by the Children of Zion, a group of the Awakened who claim to have been the first to Awake, and the first to fight the Machines. They had a prophesy about The One who would come and liberate them all. But The One had come, and he had fought, and he had died. And the Matrix still stands. There was no liberation. The Machines are still in control, and the Cold War that's resulted is proof that Zion can't win. On top of that, Diastole had issues with the Zion philosophy. They didn't just want to Awake, they wanted to leave. They wanted to unplug from the Matrix and enter The Real, a harsh, dark, dirty world, the results of an actual world that burnt the land and boiled the see. It even took away the sky. The people in The Real live like the people in this tenement; barely alive, always hungry, smelling like piss and vomit. So Diastole left. A mercenary, a gun for hire, he makes his way in the world now plying his trade to the highest bidder; and there are plenty of bidders when the Gun is Awake, when he can see and understand and manipulate the Matrix. That's a powerful Gun indeed. Usually, the highest bidder is The Merovingian, the head of a vast plutocracy beneath the surface of the Matrix; Exiles, programs marked for deletion and errant humans like Diastole, all surviving, thriving, in the contention between Zion and the Machines. But there are other bidders. And one of them was standing at the other end of this shitty room. She looked at him through mirror-lensed sunglasses, her face impassive. Was wrapped in a black leather duster, and her short-cut blond hair fell out from beneath her black cap. She was also Awake, and had also left Zion; but where Diastole had left to serve himself, she had gone to serve the Machines. She was cold and calculating. And she was still as beautiful as when he'd met her. "Some Zionites dropped this," Diastole said after a long silence, pulling a small blue computer disk out of his jacket. "I thought you might like it." Her lips quirked into a smile. "How kind of you, Mr. Pilate." She said, holding out her hand. Her voice was soft and smooth, but it had lost it's warmth some time ago. Diastole hesitated for a moment, and then handed her the disk; she slipped it into a pouch on her hip. Then she said, "I trust this hasn't... complicated matter for you?" Her voice was even, but he saw a flash of concern on her face. She tries so hard, he thought. "Not anymore than usual; I don't expect there to be a lot of difficult questions, though." He hesitated, then, "Rev, look, I- " but she cut him off. "This concludes our business, Mr. Pilate. You should probably leave before someone finds you here." He took a half-step back. Then he turned, and slowly walked to the door. He hadn't left, though, when she called out again. "You think you're free, Alex, but you're not." He turned back to face her. "You think you've broken your chains, but you're just as bound as before. You saw that Zion wasn't free, that they just traded a cage of silver for a cage of filth and call it truth. But you can't see that you've only changed your bars, too. You've traded the Dream for the Nightmare, but it's no more Real. Your belief binds you, Alex." There were a mix of emotions playing on her face. He shook his head. "And you? You've gone to the Machines, Rev. They are the cage. You want me to believe you're better off?" "I'm not free ether, Alex. But I am in control." There was a hint of the steely restraint back in her voice. "Take care of yourself, Alex. I'll be in touch." And with the swish of leather on leather, she turned and left through her own door. "You too, Sophie," he whispered. The storm had picked up outside. He walked out of the room, down the crooked stairway, and out into the rain-wet city.