LEGAL YADDA YADDA: This fanfic contains strong language and sexual content, including domination/submission themes between two male-bodied computer constructs. If you’re under the legal and/or emotional age to read such material, DON’T READ IT. I don't own the characters and concepts of The Matrix; The Wachowskis do. Characters are used without permission. No profit is being made from this file. English translations for the French words used in this fic are listed after the story. Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

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Purpose That Binds
by Apricot the Gerbil


***
I'm not sure how to start this off, but might as well just have a go at it, hm? I've been up here in the mountain Chateau for a few days with a few others who didn't get called along. Seems my boss, Mr. M, has to be away on "business" for a couple weeks. (I've never known him to ever NOT be working, but who am I to judge him?)

So I found some stationery lying around and figured, hey, why not try out writing for a change? I COULD just type this all out, but come ON, how boring would that be? It's all code, no matter how I put it down. And I've always been a hopeless romantic for these outdated sort of things. :)

Here we go: the Life and Times of Me, iSmith! (Ooh, it sounds so fancy like that!) Might as well begin at the beginning. I wasn't always the chirpy sort I am now...

The first thing I remember was Smith, that old stuffed-shirt program I was supposed to be a clone of, staring at me, looking like he'd just seen a ghost. Which now that I think of it, wasn't too far off the mark, given what he was expecting to see... Still, he could've been more polite about it. Was that so much to ask? :(
***

Smith squinted disdainfully at the newest copy he'd made, standing before him. The suit was the same, the face was almost identical to his own... all except for one detail, sitting there like a beacon of some unexplained failure, accusing him.

Mister Anderson's sunglasses.

How could that have happened? Smith thought to himself. He yanked his hand out from the faulty copy's coding, only to jam it back for a second attempt; the usual black film melted along its body. The copy darted its head about in confusion. He tried commanding it to calm down, to no avail. It disturbed Smith that the failure before him didn't seem to share the connection all his duplicates had.

His code spread to engulf the copy's entire body...

...only to show that nothing had changed, much to Smith's chagrin. His nemesis's sunglasses remained-- in fact, the copy's hair had darkened, and it seemed to have grown less bald. Smith gritted his teeth, grabbing this failure's glasses off its face and grinding the shades under his shoeheel.

The sunglasses were already crushed to powder when the copy looked back at Smith, a hurt expression on its face. "Why’d you do that?" it asked. Its voice was Smith's own, but the sense of indignation burning within the copy's words was all too recognizable.

Smith commanded a spare body to walk over and grab the failure by the arm, dragging it away from the mass of proper copies around them. Shaking his head, he listened to it squeal in protest. He didn't know how, or why, such a thing had occurred, but the idea that some of Mister Anderson's coding was now present in himself was no longer simply a theory.

He preferred not to have to have that proof staring back at him.


***
Those were strange days. I found out soon enough that I couldn't even copy anyone else like Smith could-- I'd just end up giving whoever it was a bad perm and a headache. I got shuffled to the back and out of sight all the time. What made it even MORE annoying was how I could still HEAR everything Smith was thinking. I just didn't have to act on whatever it was he was making the other “hims” do.

Oh, and it wasn't his choice, how I got my name. That was my own idea, from looking through a bunch of the storefronts all along the city streets. (Hey, what else could I do? I got bored!) It was a poster in the window of a computer shop that stopped me, of all things... a big glossy picture of this fancy-looking computer, all covered in bright pink casing. "iBook, Think Different," it said. Like a sign from above! How could I argue with that kind of logic?

And from then on, I was "iSmith."

Smith didn't seem happy when I told him I'd picked a name for myself, but I think he was tired of calling me "the copy" by then, anyhow.

Turns out I wasn't the only mistake Smith made, though. One day, some time later, I could hear him give that same sort of growl I remembered hearing when I was "born." I knew right away that SOMEwhere, wherever Smith was just then, I wasn't alone anymore.

We called the second off-copy "Agent," since he showed up with Smith's old earpiece still stuck in place from back when he worked for The Big Cheese Computers. And was Agent ever a BORE! Think of Smith, without the humor. Much less any hope of seeing one of those once-in-a-blue-moon smirks Smith'd get on his face-- I always thought he looked so cute when he did that! ;)

Anyhow, I don't know much about what happened when Smith finally got together with His Other Half. (He hated it when I called that Anderson guy that, but who was he kidding? He was obsessed, I'm sorry!) Agent and I got herded into an office building with a bunch of other spectator bodies so the two of us wouldn't "cause any trouble." All I could see was that Smith had lined himselves up outside for miles on end, like he was putting on the biggest show he could imagine for that crush of his.

The thunderstorm and old brick buildings were HORRIBLY cliché for a final showdown, I thought, but I couldn't control what Smith did any more than he could control me... sigh! {:(

And before I even knew what happened, all the Smiths started glowing like they'd been lit on fire. I heard Smith scream something, in the back of my mind. Then, BOOM-- I opened my eyes, and it was just Agent and me, sitting there in the room.

Felt like my heart'd been ripped out.

Which sounds stupid, 'cause I know I've never had one, right? Still... I may not've had the words to describe it back then, but when Smith finally merged with Mister Anderson, and both of them faded away-- it was like they'd both scooped out the last bit of purpose I'd ever had, and I was nothing but code over an empty shell. An empty shell that was supposed to be someone else, natch.

Hmph. I'm getting all choked up just thinking about it! I'd better move on.

It wasn't too long before what we saw through the office windows started warping back to how it'd been before Smith went on his little redecorating binge. I could see a few people start wandering around outside, but they weren't humans. Programs, all of them, Agent said.

And then, words started going through my head, saying things I knew I wasn't thinking: “Temporary downtime, we're going through a restructuring of system resources,” something like that. I turned to Agent, who seemed to hear it too. He just nodded to himself.

That's when the REAL Agents showed up for us.
***


Agent Jackson walked closer to the pair of outdated programs, peering down at them through jet-black sunglasses. "You're not supposed to be here, are you?" he asked. His voice was flat, in a fashion that expected no response.

One of the outdates shook his head matter-of-factly, as if the answer should have been obvious. The other one kept staring off at nothing, shivering slightly. Agent Jackson looked to Agent Johnson, who stood mutely behind him. The two nodded faintly towards each other.

"You're coming with us," Agent Jackson said. The Agents each grabbed one of the outdates by an arm and led them out of the office. Neither gave any struggle as they were taken to the nearest subway station... not even when they saw the shuttle for Mobil Avenue halting to a stop before them.

Then again, not every program the Agents had taken here in the past had recognized the name for what it was: their impending end.

Once their entrusted cargo had been herded into the Mobil shuttle, the Agents left. iSmith and Agent sat down next to each other in silence, leaving iSmith to look around their empty subway car. Empty, except for the snaggle-haired man huddled in a heap of rags five seats down...

"Ahh, great! Fresh blood!" the vagrant suddenly cried out. He cackled, seeing one of his passengers jump from the noise. "Thought I felt a change in the air... guess I was right."

The subway car lurched into motion. Lights could be seen flickering past from outside, on and on.

iSmith began shivering again. Every second of this ride that passed already seemed an unbearable wait... He found himself wanting to try talking to Agent about something, anything, just to help calm the cold buzzing looping through his mind. He’d tried starting conversations with his misfit sibling before, and knew that Agent found chatting to be a waste of time. Still, he wondered whether it would be worth the try...

He felt the subway car ease to a halt. It was too late for words.

To iSmith's surprise, however, he found himself and Agent stepping off not to another subway platform, but onto a a flat, clear docking station fixed upon masses of grey cables. An entire living landscape sprawled before them, twisting about in countless metal coils and dotted with reddish winks of light. A low, humming pulse could be heard from all directions.

iSmith turned to his brother... only to yelp in fear at the mass of green symbols trailing down in Agent's place. He held out his arm to find it had also become a jumbled, arm-shaped pattern of scribbles. "What's going on?!" he cried, hoping the scruffy man on the subway could still hear him.

A voice drifted out from the doors of the halted car. "Hey, don't ask me! From here on out, it's all you, pal!"

ATTENTION, PROGRAMS.

Agent and iSmith stopped still at the sound. The machines were talking to them.

THE MAINFRAME 'MATRIX' HAS BEEN REBOOTED DUE TO RECENT EVENTS. YOU ARE NO LONGER NECESSARY TO THE FUNCTIONING OF SAID MAINFRAME. YOU MAY CHOOSE TO BE DELETED AND RETURN TO OUR SYSTEM, OR BE RE-ENCODED AS AN EXILED PROGRAM AND RETURN TO THE MAINFRAME.

"E..exiled...?" iSmith repeated. "What does that mean?"

EXILED PROGRAMS ARE REINSERTED INTO THE MAINFRAME WITHOUT A STATED FUNCTION. ANY ACTIONS PERFORMED BY AN EXILED PROGRAM THAT ARE CONTRARY TO SYSTEM RULES WILL RESULT IN THE PROGRAM BEING RETURNED HERE FOR DELETION. THIS WILL ONLY OCCUR IF CONTRARY ACTIONS ARE PERFORMED.

Agent frowned. He took a step towards the landscape, surveying his superiors with his usual stone-faced expression. "This information is unnecessary for my decision. I request my deletion."

REQUEST ACCEPTED.

iSmith could only watch as the mass of tiny shapes and lines next to him-- as Agent-- fuzzed out of focus, and faded to nothing. There was no trace Agent had ever been standing there, just wind and the humming around him... iSmith turned what he thought was his head to face the machines (part of him wondering if he was now giving off whatever terror squiggles looked like) and screamed, "I don't want that!! Give me the-- the other one, the exile thing!"

YOU REQUEST EXILE STATUS?

"Yes!" he yelled back.

REQUEST ACCEPTED. YOU ARE NOW BEING RE-ENCODED. RETURN TO YOUR TRANSPORT.

iSmith ran back into the subway car. He gasped out a relieved sigh, seeing his black and white suit around him again, and fell into the nearest seat, burying his head in his hands. He still wasn't sure what to think. How could he be? He'd lost everything familiar to him, in only a few hours!

And Agent! What had happened to Agent? ...It made sense, somehow, yes-- iSmith knew what his sibling had done was only what he would’ve expected him to do, had he known in advance... but the shock of seeing his only kindred soul vanish so quickly left him feeling cheated out of something he couldn't even describe.

The scruffy man's voice called out to him. "Lost one a'ya for the trip home, did I?"

iSmith lifted his head, glaring back his response.

"Huh. Well, ya win some, ya lose some. Nothing off my back, at least," the man said, spreading a grin full of jagged gaps and mold. "Still, if I've only got one to bring back to my boss, that's one more’n I had before you came by. Look on the bright side, 'n all."

"You... run this car?" iSmith asked. He craned his head to the side, curious to see if there was even anyone driving.

The man laughed. "Hell, I run the whole works down here. I'm the Train Man. Glad ta meetcha," he said, giving another painful-looking grin.

iSmith nodded, shifting warily in his seat. "Sorry if I'm being rude. I've just never-- well, I don't know what's going on, I guess."

The Train Man twisted his lip; iSmith couldn't tell if he was smiling or sneering at him. "Nah, don't worry 'bout that. Y'wouldn't be the first one. Not by a long shot."

"Okay," nodded iSmith, "I guess that's a good start. Can you tell me what happens now?"

"Well, now I take you over t'see my boss. All the Exiles work for him, pretty much. You get him to like you, you end up workin' for him, and I get a gold star for the day for getting him some good new help," the Train Man said. His eyes bugged wider, staring menacingly at his passenger. "Or, you act like an idiot, make him not like ya, and then I take ya out back and put a bunch'a bullets through yer head. All up to you."

iSmith paled, nodding back numbly. "Thanks for the choice..."


***
I'll admit, I was nervous as all hell before I met my boss. I had good reason to be, I s'pose... There I was, with not one idea I could call my own, and I was supposed to wow the socks off of someone who sounded like the mob boss of the entire Matrix?

In the end, though... even if I didn't plan it, I ended up making an impression, that's for sure. ;)
***


"Here ya go, boss. Just got one, this time around," the Train Man said, jerking a thumb back to point at his exiled charge. iSmith stayed quiet, still too busy taking in the rooms he had been led through. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling. Crushed velvet carpeting covered those floors not made of mosaic tile and carved marble. All around them, statues frolicked in place.

A new voice rang from the balcony above them, catching iSmith's attention. "Ah! Come in, welcome, dernier à partir! You must be quite tired from your journey, yes?"

Looking down upon the Train Man and his new prize, the Merovingian smiled. The two armed guards flanking him studied the exile warily, unused to seeing a program so similar to an Agent receiving sanctuary here. Whether due to curiosity or caution, all eyes were on iSmith as he and the scraggly man climbed the stairs to the balcony.

"Mon dieu! What in the world did you say to this one?" the Merovingian chided jokingly, smirking at the Train Man. "Look at him, he shakes like a leaf!"

iSmith kept his gaze towards the floor, feeling more uncomfortable with every step he took. He could tell everyone was staring, not to mention the two who had guns trained on him... Was he supposed to say something?

"You must have so much on your mind, so much you could tell us," began the Merovingian, his black silk suitcoat making a faint gliding sound as he crossed his arms before him. "I remember seeing one who looked very much like yourself, walking up to me, some time ago. I remember how the room seemed filled with others, all looking the same as he... Then I can remember nothing more."

He trailed off for a moment, quirking his mouth to a frown. "This is a maddening thing for me, to not have any idea what happened. It is my business to find all the information I possibly can. Simply because of what you have seen, when all around you could no longer see... you are certainly of interest to me, whether you have talents of your own or not."

The Merovingian paused, raising an eyebrow as he moved closer to iSmith. "Now, mon ami, I could keep you to hear the story of how your reality came to an end. However, I believe that using you as nothing more than a piece in a curio cabinet would not be to your liking. I can see it in you... You desire more than what you have been, am I right?"

iSmith nodded, to the Merovingian's apparent delight; he continued, raising a manicured finger to softly run it down the exile's cheek. "I knew it. So many have come to me without purpose... how painful their existence feels, knowing they have no place to call their own, no raison d'être!"

His voice began taking a colder tone. "Then again, nothing in this universe is given without its proper cost... Poor lost little soul, how much of yourself are you willing to give to me?" The finger paused under iSmith's chin, idly scratching in place.

"I... I would give you anything," iSmith replied, trying to face the steely gaze before him.

"Anything is such a feather-light word," said the Merovingian, frowning. "Would you protest if I ordered your death, even if you do not understand my reasons?"

iSmith shrugged, casting a glance to the barrels of the guards' guns. "Seems I don't have much of a future either way."

"Fair enough." The Merovingian smirked. "What if I demanded that your code be rewritten? Would you freely give your very essence, if I were to give your new self a purpose?"

"Hnnh. I never had an 'essence' of my own to begin with, so I'd have no problem there," iSmith said. He found himself smiling as well, despite the tense little bolts pounding through his mind.

"Yes, I was curious..." mused the Merovingian, studying iSmith's face as though spying through his skin. "I have not seen one of your design before. Were you meant to have this in you, this trace of the human?"

"I-- um. No, I wasn't," iSmith said. "I don't know how it happened."

"I see. Still, I would like to know how similar to a human you truly are." The Merovingian brought back his hand, taking a step away from the exile. "What would you do if I told you I was going to... oh, let's say... take a piss all over you, right now?"

One of the guards opened his mouth, about to say something, but stopped, shifting awkwardly instead. The Train Man leered to his boss, nodding him on.

iSmith sighed, looking around the lush scenery of the room. The contrast of power here was overwhelming... Could he even attempt to protest, at this point? He slowly raised his head to face the haughty eyes staring at him. "I'd say, just don't hit the tie." He smoothed his hand over the black fabric, smirking defiantly. "It may be the only thing I own, but it is silk."

"Strong words," replied the Merovingian, grinning at this sudden flare of pride. "But, then, actions are always stronger. Will you fight, will you flee...? Let us see what you'll do, hm?" He slipped his hands below his suitcoat, calmly fussing with a zipper underneath. iSmith only watched, his expression cold. One of the guards walked up behind him and shoved him down onto his knees, but he gave no resistance.

The first droplets of the stream splattered onto iSmith's face; he squinted, silently grimacing. He could hear the guard chuckling in disbelief...

Only a second or two had passed, but iSmith already noticed how warm the sensation felt. He tried to think back. Had he ever truly not felt cold? His own body never gave off any heat. Hell, since today, he'd done nothing but shiver.

Before iSmith realized what he was doing, he could hear the guard's laughter fade into a disgusted drawl. He found himself leaning closer, mouth open and lapping away at the warmth. Between gulps, he uttered the quiet noise of what would have been sobs, if his programming had the ability to cry. He didn't even know why he wanted more of this warm feeling-- he just knew he did.

The other guard now looked rather ill. He turned to his boss, giving a questioning look, and motioned his gun towards the crouching exile.

The Merovingian, still grinning in smug surprise, shook his head at the guard. He stroked a hand through a patch of iSmith's hair that wasn't glistening and exhaled slowly. "Not at all what I had expected, but... I must say I don't wish to complain..."

The urine had stopped. iSmith choked out a disappointed sound, and stayed where he was, suckling away feverishly at the Merovingian’s cock. If nothing made sense in his world anymore, he at least knew he wanted to feel warm again. When no more came out, he leaned away, slowly crumpling to the floor. "Please," he started, but he couldn't think of any other words to his question. "Please..."

He felt a hand under his chin, guiding his head upwards.

Opening his eyes, iSmith saw the Merovingian crouched down close to him, satisfaction beaming from his face. "You may not be a human, but you certainly share their desires. You intrigue me, I must say."

He paused to give a low chuckle. "Notice, little one, you have not once asked 'why' to anything I have said...? I doubt you understand much of your situation here, and yet you do not trouble your mind with anything but the sensation you feel. Such a pure, beautiful thing, is such an honesty!"

The Merovingian gave iSmith a knowing look. "You wish to no longer be alone, is this true?"

iSmith nodded back, swallowing another would-be sob.

"Oui, of course... I thought so. It is another mark of the human in you." The Merovingian stood up, carefully refastening his pants. He looked around the room, remarking, "It has been a long time since I last had a pet..."

He turned to the Train Man and flashed him a businesslike grin. "Travail magnifique, mon ami. I think I will enjoy keeping this one for myself."

iSmith managed a tiny smile, asking, "You'll... you want me to work for you?"

"Ah, mon petit ami doux-- you have proved yourself already, and you wish to do more?" The Merovingian laughed, reaching into a pocket of his coat to pull out a small handkerchief. As he wiped his hands, he added, "Then again, if you wish to be the one who gives orders, of the sort you have just done for me... I may find another use for you yet."

He draped the soiled cloth onto the shoulder of the guard nearest him, who struggled to not look disgusted in any way. "There are more ways than guns, to make people tell their secrets..."


***
And before I knew it, I had a contract with The Big M! Go me! :)

Sure, there were some papers to sign, but nothing to sweat over. I think the hardest part was making up a signature for myself. Seems the boss has a real thing for making contracts with people, too-- he's had one made for every program working for him, he told me. I wonder sometimes where he could keep that many pages...

I still remember my contract, after all this while. I kinda have to, seeing as how I can't go against any of the rules in it, but I still like the idea of being able to rattle the lines off by memory.

Let's see, there's three rules: One, I had to agree to let my coding be changed so that it reads I not only work for him, but I belong to him, too. Two, I can never protest any actions he does to me, unless he demands that I protest (sometimes he likes that sort of thing). ;) And three, I have to have some of his code "disseminated" (fancy word, I know, but don't think about it too hard) into myself at least once a week, or I'll go into withdrawal. Which HAS happened, and believe me, it is NOT fun!

It wasn't too long before Mr. M started offering me some more coding upgrades. Standard extras for anyone working for him, most of it... he said it was from parts of his own programming. I don't know the whole story, but apparently, way back when, he was made to be sort of a SimHuman, so the machines could see how humans would respond to things without actually damaging any "resources".

Anyhow, what was I-- oh, yeah, the upgrade thing. I got the option of being able to eat, drink, taste, smell, and have any of the usual human reactions to things in the Matrix, except for feeling pain (which would make his bodyguards kinda useless in a pinch-- it's not something I mind missing out on either, really!). The only consequences were things like having to learn to use the bathroom if I ate anything. Seems the Matrix doesn't like it when something a human is supposed to digest suddenly disappears without a trace... But how could I argue over how these things work? I thought it was a good enough trade-off, so I went for it.

Oh, and with the desserts they serve in Mr. M's favorite restaurant... it is SO worth it!

He had a couple special upgrades made just for me, too. Ones that let me rewrite what I look like under certain parts of my suit, just how I want it. I don't know how it works, exactly, something to do with those green squiggly things I saw when I was with the machines. But, hey, it works! 8)

He kept asking me all these questions after I got that upgrade, though. I'm still not sure what he was talking about...
***


With a tingling slowness, iSmith felt the edges of the desk he was bent over fade back to his notice. He could never seem to pinpoint when the sense of where he was would flicker away into blind, blazing ecstasy, but he liked how he always returned in time to feel his boss's heavy warmth still resting on top of him.

He gave a contented sigh, stretching his fingers out against the puffy down blanket the Merovingian had been thoughtful enough to drape over the desk, and lay still, feeling the newly implanted code spread through his body. It was like feeling hot honey cider slide down his throat, iSmith thought, only better. Better than that, better than anything.

The Merovingian's voice cut through his thoughts, whispered from his snug perch above. "Does it bother you sometimes, little one?"

"...Does what bother me...?" iSmith asked. His words still felt fuzzy and jumbled.

"That you cannot be sure, if the rush I know you are feeling now is of your own choosing."

His words only made iSmith utter a confused "hmm?", so he continued. "I have been curious, as of late. I have seen many, many humans claim a strange attachment to those they feel devoted to. They have many words for it, but 'addiction' does not seem to be one of them. I wonder, if you are perhaps human enough to feel such a confusion...?"

iSmith chuckled softly, closing his eyes. "I think you talk too much, sometimes."

There was a pause. "And that is all you think?"

"It doesn't matter... I'm here right now, and you're there. That's all that matters," iSmith said. He arched his back, rubbing closer against the familiar feel of tailored silk.

A laugh vibrated from above him; the Merovingian's response seemed to come through a smile. "Oui, how true that is." He pulled out, using iSmith's few seconds of moaning distraction to quietly wipe himself off on the back of the Agent-standard coat. "But, alas, I have places to be. Come along, now-- fasten me up, like a good pet."

iSmith's shoulders slumped, but he was quick to turn around, taking care to fix the Merovingian's clothes before tending to his own pants. As he reached for his sagging belt, though, his boss stopped his hand.

"Ah-- un moment. I wanted to ask... Are you truly satisfied, with this new improvement I have given you?" Before iSmith could answer, the Merovingian tugged down the waistline of his pants, pointing with disinterest at the hole within the plastic-smooth skin of iSmith's lower back. "Be serious, now. This shows no imagination at all!"

"I-I'm sorry!" stammered iSmith, a blush creeping onto his face. "Isn't that how--? I mean, I know there needs to be a hole there, and..."

The Merovingian clucked his tongue, looking away. "Ah, no, souci pas... It is not entirely your fault. I have treated your senses to a banquet, but until now, I have neglected your brain." He walked over to unlock the door of his office, letting light spill in from the Chateau's hallways. "Follow me. I have something to show you before I must go."

He started down the hall with long, leisurely strides. iSmith followed, struggling to zip his fly shut while he walked.

The two of them came to a stop in the television lounge. The Merovingian ignored the books piled high on the walls' shelves, and instead fussed over the row of small, flat boxes stacked halfhazardly on a low shelf that looked almost empty. iSmith looked at the pictures on the boxes; snarling werewolves and bug-eyed grey creatures looked out menacingly from the covers.

"Some of my charges, they find such amusement in how the humans have failed to see them," remarked the Merovingian, squinting as his eyes scanned the wood paneling of the shelf. With a short "ah," he flipped a small latch, all but invisible against the varnish of the back paneling, and eased it to the side, revealing a hidden shelf filled with similarly flat boxes. "I am doubtful they could ever fully appreciate the splendor of my collection, however..."

He ran a hand across the rows, smirking at the awed look on iSmith's face. "You must have heard of films before, yes? The humans are terribly fond of them, always making new ones. They keep their tales, their hopes, their dreams, all within these smallest of treasures." He paused to sneer. "Purest nonsense, every one of them. But they interest me, for humans seem to prize the ideas in the images they show."

The Merovingian stepped back, beckoning iSmith to stand before the boxes. "Perhaps they will serve to put some creativity into your mind. Show me, which one calls to you first?"

iSmith stared at the neat lines of box edges. Colors, letters, tiny pictures, everywhere... He could almost feel the Merovingian's eyes boring into him, and wondered if any of the choices before him would be taken as a wrong answer. iSmith found his attention settling on a bright pink box; the memory of an old computer drifted through his thoughts. He reached out to pull it free from the shelf, curious to see the cover.

"An interesting choice," said the Merovingian, taking the box from iSmith's hands to glance at it himself. "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert... Ah, yes, I remember this one. Très unique. It suits you, I think." He opened the box, nodding down at the silver disc inside, then towards the screen on the wall. "Just slip this into the slot there, under the screen. It is quite easy. I trust you will slide the shelf back when you are done."

A slight grin curved along the Merovingian's face. He handed the box to iSmith and leaned closer. "If you wish to find ideas for your new... equipment," he said, reaching to pat softly at iSmith's clothed groin, "I suggest the films in the red boxes, to the left. But for now, au reviour."

iSmith watched as his boss left the room without another glance. He looked down at the disc in his hands... then at the red boxes on the shelf, and back again... and decided to go with his first choice. He could always watch the other films afterwards...


***
I remember first seeing the men in the dresses, from that movie I picked. Something about them... they just had SOMEthing, you know? They looked so confident, so sure of themselves-- I wanted to leap out of my chair right there and yell, "I want to be like THIS!"

As I saw it, Smith was always so uptight, and His Other Half struck me as being kind of dull... from what I’ve heard of him since, might I even say, kind of a dork? “Whoa,” indeed. If I was going to give myself my own personality, I might as well be as spectacularly unique as I could be, right?

It DID take a little while to get the locals accustomed to my new self, though.
***


iSmith gulped warily, staring down at the switchblade one of the pair of albino bodyguards had just whipped out to place against his throat. "Hey now-- hang on, fellas! I'm a lover, not a fighter! What gives?" he stammered. "It was just a simple question."

The Twins narrowed their eyes at each other, then answered him, shifting the words between them in an unamused monotone. "The sooner you stop asking us to 'make sandwiches' with you..."

"...whatever that means..."

"...the sooner we can go back to not being creeped the fuck out."

"Are we clear?"

"Crystal," iSmith replied, raising his hands in exaggerated surrender.


***
Then one day, my boss asked if I wanted to help him with-- “a side business,” I think he called it. He said he was really impressed with how well I'd been using my new upgrade, so much so that he'd mentioned me to some of his associates. "You wouldn't believe what some programs would give to be whisked away and played with by an Agent for a while," he told me (only he used fancier words).

Then he said my first appointment was in two days... 8(

He had someone find an earpiece for me, just like all the Agents wear. I admit, I had to stop and sigh before I could try putting it on... When Mr. M asked me what was the matter, I told him, "Just remembering an old friend."

The job didn't go as badly as I thought it might. I was all nervous that I'd mess up, or that the programs I was gonna be fake-abducting would hate how I did things. But as I found out, it didn't really matter. They got so into it, I could just ad-lib my lines once I walked up to them and led them off. All I'd have to do was act gruff and pin them down against things, or hold them in place a lot, and they'd moan and squirm around, loving every minute of it... Now that I think about it, it WAS kinda nice to be giving all the orders for once! ;)

Turns out that most programs don't have anything under the clothes they're coded to have-- just like my body used to be. At first I thought it was a bit weird, how the usual turn-on for these programs is to be hooked up to something electric and shocked... then again, I never really thought about that kind of thing when I was with Smith. It made for a nice closure to the sessions, too: I could interrogate them, then say that they weren't cooperating or whatever, and shock them harder, until they finally overloaded themselves and passed out.

Oh, well. Mr. M told me he was proud of how well I was handling those jobs, and if he was glad with how I did it, then I was glad!

He had me spend a couple sessions with humans, too. They seem to have the same sort of fantasy, only they call Agents "men in black." I didn't like those jobs, though. I mean, I couldn't DO anything! Couldn't change around my shape while I was inside them, couldn't let them see how grossed out I got when they'd start spraying everywhere, couldn't ask them why they all had such an obsession over what size my organs are-- nothing. And don't get me STARTED on the whole "anal probe" thing! They may've given my boss a lot of money to have me work them over, but I'm still glad hardly any humans found out about me.

Then there was my most... uh, interesting client of all. I didn't know much about that Mister Anderson human, myself, but there must have been a doozy of a story I wasn't able to find out about-- something between him and the machines living in that grey place Agent and I saw once. From what I could piece together, Mister Anderson (though I guess nobody but Smith ever called him that) died, in front of them, in a way that really got all those machines curious. So curious, in fact, they wanted to start sending a few of their own into the Matrix, too! Wow, that must've been some death...

I knew Mr. M was deep in negotiations with the machines-- some kinda bargaining thing, in exchange for him giving them territory maps of where they wouldn't stick out as much among the humans, I think. So partway through, he came back to the Chateau. I ran down to meet him... and stopped right in my tracks.

I'd never seen my boss nervous, before. EVER. But there he was, dabbing sweat away with his handkerchief, paler than a scared mime. There'd been some... "misunderstandings"... with the machines, he told me. Something about why he would be keeping the only descendant of two viruses that'd almost destroyed their entire city, and that the issue at hand turned directly to his OWN hide.

I asked why he didn’t just tell them he’d have the thing killed, to get them off his case, and he looked at me really strange and told me that was the first idea he'd offered them.

Even now, I don't get what was going on, but I agreed when he pleaded (!!!) that I meet with one of the machines, have a special session with them-- and, above all, that I not do ANYthing that might be seen as threatening.

How could I refuse?
***


"Hello. You are the hybrid?"

iSmith paused, unsure of what to say, as the petite Asian woman walked through the doorway, clad in a simple black dress and clasping something between her hands. He couldn't help staring, especially at her eyes; they bulged from her sockets, hidden by snapping blinks of her eyelids every precise few seconds. "Um... Yes, I suppose that'd be me!" he said with a smile, hoping the awkwardness tearing through his insides wasn’t obvious.

"Is there a problem?"

"Well, I... I thought you’d be--" stammered iSmith.

"You are disoriented because I am female."

iSmith gulped, surprised at how quickly she had seen through him. "...Yes. A little."

The woman nodded, her expression stayed motionless. "My function outside the mainframe is to repair my kin if any are damaged. I was informed that humans consider nurturing to be a primarily feminine action." She moved her hands to present iSmith with what appeared to be a metallic sculpture of an apple. As iSmith stood there, staring at it in politely hidden confusion, she continued. "I am known as the Ambassador. I bring greetings from Zero One."

"Thank you very much," iSmith said, trying to think fast. "Would you mind if I put this on the table, there? I... I don't want my hands to get it dirty."

"Permission granted," the Ambassador replied.

iSmith moved to carefully set down the sculpture on the room's wooden table, leaving plenty of room to avoid any chance of it falling off. He turned his attention back to the woman, waiting for her to make the next move... only to have her blink at him some more.

The room was silent; iSmith found himself recalling memories of his brother. "Was there anything you wanted me to do...?" he asked, trying to prod the conversation along.

"I apologize for my lack of response. I am unused to this vessel. I cannot detect any of my usual sensory readings from you," said the Ambassador, her voice a flat drone. "I now understand why I am under orders to procure a sample of code from your vessel directly."

"You... need my code?" iSmith repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's fine, but... is there any certain way you're supposed to get it? I'm used to--"

"A sample of hair will suffice," the woman replied.

iSmith smiled, feeling a bit relieved. "Oh! All right, then." He reached up to pull a few strands of his scruffy, blackish-brown hair free from his scalp. The Ambassador gave what he could only guess was a grunt of approval, and took the strands from him, curling them within a deathgrip of a fist. "Did you want anything else?" he asked.

"There is nothing more I am required to do," the Ambassador said, and looked around the room they were in with straight, sweeping turns of her head. "The Merovingian told me that I was free to use your services if I wished, but I am unsure what your function is."

"Well..." iSmith bit at his lower lip, trying to think of how Agent would describe what went on in this room. "You could say, I give people sensations that they want to feel. By touching their bodies, usually. I get told what they want to feel, and then I do that to them."

The Ambassador's eyes closed for a second, then popped back open. "Understood. Please perform the standard procedure for what is expected in this situation."

Pausing nervously, iSmith told her, "I can't-- I mean, there is no real standard procedure. It's all up to what the other person wants. I don't know what you want me to do unless you tell me."

"Ah. Then it is not possible for you to connect to other programs, or create a network using your own programming as a centralized base?"

"Uh..." iSmith said, confused. "No?"

"Understood." The Ambassador nodded again. "However, I am unused to knowing which actions are desirable and which are not while in this vessel. If I must give a request without the orders of my superiors, then I wish for you to touch each part of the vessel. This may be useful for future research." She reached down to pull her dress over her head, as idly as if moving to bat away a mosquito, leaving her naked before iSmith.

"All right, I can work with that!" said iSmith in a slightly higher-pitched voice, averting his eyes as he beckoned to the table. "If you'd prefer to relax while I do that, you can sit down right here. There's plenty enough room-- oh, and don't worry, I'll make sure that the..." iSmith gestured at the apple thing. "...That it isn't disturbed."

Without another word, the Ambassador walked to the table, moving her limbs jerkily as she settled herself onto it. Her legs hung like stiff twigs over its edge. iSmith moved closer to her and began massaging her shoulders, making sure to keep his touches gentle. His fingers moved up and down along her body-- first her neck, then her temples... a few circling rubs under her ears... to her arms... down around her ribs, her waist... and further...

The Ambassador narrowed her eyes. "I am leaking. Is that supposed to happen?"

She had been so quiet throughout it all that iSmith twitched in surprise when he finally heard her voice. That his hands had just reached her crotch didn't help his nerves... "Usually, yes," he said, smiling as politely as he could muster. "Does it feel nice, though? I think that's a more important question."

Another bug-eyed blink. "The sensation is not painful, but I am generating more heat than I would have expected. Please move on to another area."

"Will do," iSmith replied, and began rubbing down her legs in short whorls. Even if he was doing this to help his boss, he still felt relieved that intercourse wasn't going to be a factor this time. A messy human body was a messy human body, machine brain inside it or no... He noticed the Ambassador's mouth twitch as he reached her feet. "Do you like that?"

"Unsure. My form outside the mainframe has never possessed anatomy resembling a foot. This feeling is... strange to me." She looked down at iSmith's fingers rubbing along her toes, as though she could understand how the feeling worked if she watched the action closely enough.

"I can keep doing it, if you want me to," said iSmith.

The Ambassador pondered the question for a moment, then gave a curt "Yes."

"From what I've found, that means you like something," iSmith told her, slowing his hands along her skin...


***
So my ultra-important meeting with The Grand Machine Ambassador ended up being an hour-long foot massage. I still don't get it... My boss was thrilled when I saw him the next day, though, like I’d saved his life or something, so I figure they must've really put in a good word about me. So... yay! ...I guess.

Oh! I almost forgot! That day after seeing the Ambassador, Mr. M gave me a present! The first thing I ever had that was all my own. It was a feather boa, shiny and bright and perfect, made from peacock feathers-- they were gorgeous! And oh, the way he smirked when he put it around my shoulders, and ran his hand through my hair... I heard him say, "The bird’s name suits you," and I thought to myself, he means I'm THIS beautiful to him? It made me happier than I could ever remember.

He took me that night, on his very own bed. He'd never had me on a bed before... It was the first time-- and only time, ever since-- he had me lie back, so we could face each other.

I'd heard humans talk about a place where everything was perfect, in the films I'd seen. They called it “heaven.” I can remember looking up at him, hearing him whispering something in French, with the feathers around my neck rustling as he pounded into me, and back, and in again... All I could do was cry out to him, try grabbing around his waist, and wonder, is heaven anything like this?

That's why I was so shocked when my boss... just... STOPPED seeing me, after that. The first time, I thought he was just being forgetful, or maybe he was busy with all the appointments he has. I'd wander around for days, just waiting, hoping, to suddenly feel him grab ahold of my tie and drag me off someplace, grinning that grin of his that says "I've got an idea for you," and... hee, sorry-- blissed out for a second there. :)

But a week went by, and then another, and another... Nothing. When he came by the Chateau sometime in Week Two, I got desperate enough to ask him what was going on. He said he didn't know what I was talking about! And I couldn't talk back, now could I? Hmph... I felt so cold before long that I couldn't even talk anymore. My teeth'd start clacking and grind shut before I could try. I couldn't move right, couldn't think straight... It may not be what humans feel when they feel pain, but I'd love to see them prove that this wasn't it!

I remember, it was a Tuesday, 'cause he always had supper at his favorite restaurant on Tuesdays. By then, I'd figured out which of the keys in his bedroom could take me through his usual shortcuts. I got as far as the big dining hall, halfway to the table he always kept at the front of the room. I didn't even know what I was trying to do, I just knew I had to get to him!

He finally spotted me, trying to shamble past all those tables. I saw his eyes looking back at me, going wide, and... and he...

He called for his guards.

I found out what it felt like to get thrown out face-first onto the city streets. Can't say I much liked it.

I woke up back in the Chateau a couple days later. Turned out he had some bodyguards drag me back and inject me with some of his code-- through a needle, just as impersonal as you could be!-- so technically, I was fine again, and the next time I saw him, he acted like nothing was wrong.

And then he did it all over again...
***


"Hey, dude! Awesome costume!"

Two turned at the noise, pale dreadlocks swishing. A leatherclad man was leaning against the brick wall nearby, grinning at him, face lit red by the neon sign overhead. "You a regular? Haven't seen you around Hel before," the man said.

Furrowing his brow, Two walked on, ignoring the "What? ...Asshole..." muttered from behind him. He started down the city walkways... and paused, hearing the much more familiar voice of his sibling.

"Oi! Over here. Found him."

One smirked at his brother, watching him step closer into the muddy alley. He nodded down at the dark-suited program huddled against the ground, remarking, "Didn't get very far this time, did he?"

"Never does," Two muttered, shaking his head.

"Just help get him up," One chided. He reached down to grab iSmith by his arm, easing him off the pavement. Two grasped the other arm, carefully draping the body to rest over One's shoulder.

iSmith's eyes opened, only to roll back in their sockets, a mewling moan gurgling from deep in his throat. "Morning, sunshine," Two said to him, and sighed. "Another fantastic mission carried out for the day, huzzah. Should call to let Frenchie know... Want the car brought around?"

"Could we, please?" One asked, careful to brace iSmith's arms against him as he stood back up. He watched Two stride off, and listened to the quiet noises the body he carried was uttering... until a sleek red coupe slowed to a stop outside the alleyway. He opened the back door of the car, letting iSmith gently fall along the seats there, and slammed the door, getting into the front passenger's seat. He quirked a eyebrow at his brother's sulking frown. "Problems?"

"He'll call us 'the next time we're ever needed', he said," Two grumbled. "Let's take the scenic route today. If he wants his toy back so badly, he'll have to wait for it a little longer."

"Sounds fine," said One. He opened the glove compartment, taking out a syringe in a small plastic bag. "Time to do the honors, then."

A sharp pain pierced iSmith's shoulder; he flailed weakly, choking on a scream. One watched him shudder, dropping the empty syringe into the bag. "Have to wonder what the boss gives this thing, sometimes."

Two kept glaring at the road.

The drab cityscape went on and on, but many miles passed before the Twins heard stirring from the back seats. "Where...?" iSmith groaned, looking up through the window at the telephone poles blurring by.

"Welcome back," One said. "Just taking you home again, no worries."

"My... my boa... where--?!" iSmith jerked his head about, his words clipped and desperate. "Had a-- around my neck, it was-- feathers, he gave it to me... was a present-- oh god...! I lost it, I LOST it!!" Cold tears dripped from his eyes, as if by reflex. "S'gonna hate me even more now!"

The Twins rolled their eyes at each other. The wailing only continued.

"Or, no! Maybe it was when I-- Vinci! I called him Vinci, last time we were... ohh, I shouldn't have said that, now he knows I had a name for him...!"

"Not to budge in on personal affairs," interrupted One, "but do you honestly think the Merovingian would kick you out because you gave him a nickname?"

iSmith sniffled. "Dunno... why?"

"Well, let's just say a lot of his employees call him a lot of different things, when they can get away with it," Two said, smirking at his brother.

"Yes, just saying. Ever thought of, perhaps, asking him what the problem is?" One asked dryly.

"I... No, I can't," mumbled iSmith. "I can't ever talk back! For anything he does. It's in my contract."

At those words, the Twins' faces finally softened. "Oh... Contract troubles, is it? That explains some things, then," One said, holding up the bagged syringe. "Is that what this's about, too?"

iSmith nodded glumly. "I need it once a week. Think it'd been... almost four weeks now...?"

Two chuckled. "And here we thought you were just a horrible pansy! What's in that stuff you need, anyhow?"

"It's-- well, it's him," iSmith said. "His... Vinci's... code."

This seemed to confuse the Twins, momentarily. Two squinted, opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then closed it again. The connection dawned on One, who frowned, remarking, "Ah. That'd explain why his wife's been even bitchier since you showed up, yes."

"Still..." began Two, seeming eager to change the subject. "Don't worry too much that he hates you. Sounds like you're just going through the test."

It was iSmith's turn to look confused. He watched the Twins nod sagely to each other, and raised an eyebrow. "Test...? What test?"

"The bossman, he has a thing about keeping his friends even closer than his enemies," One said, turning to his brother. "We remember our test very well, don't we?"

Two scowled, forming fists around the steering wheel. "Oh, yes. We remember."

"Contract troubles. It's always coming down to contract troubles, with old Frenchie boy..." One continued, sensing that his sibling might not want to be disturbed while driving. "Agree to have our code changed so it would read we worked for the Merovingian, under new names of his choosing, and have any memory we had until then erased. Never ask about our lives from before he took us in. Never seek out who we used to be in any way. Those are our rules."

iSmith nodded. "So when did he give you this 'test' thing?"

Two let out a bursting, cynical chuckle. "You think the boss would actually tell us if we’re being tested? You really are a trusting soul!"

One continued. "It was some time after we'd been with his elite guard, when we think it happened. There was a man, all in robes and long white hair-- he comes up to us outside the door where the boss was, looking around like he wasn't sure anyone'd seen him yet. And he tells us he's been looking for us, that the two of us were ‘the lost ones’, 'n so on."

"Did... um... What did you do?" asked iSmith.

"We shot him," Two said, his voice low.

One paused. "Both of us did."

There was an uneasy silence in the car. iSmith bit his lip and laid back to watch the rows of buildings once more, if only to let them decide when to talk again.

Two finally muttered, "I still think it might have been real. Maybe he hasn't tested us yet, I mean."

"You'd have shot him just the same, and you know it," replied One.

iSmith hesitated, but couldn't help his curiosity. "Why...?"

"It was either kill him or let down our boss," One answered, face stern. "We think about 'what ifs' every now and again, sure. But in the end, it's either the Merovingian or getting deleted."

"...I understand," said iSmith, giving them both a look of sympathy. "You don't need to say any more..."

One sighed. The dark reflection of the road streaked along his sunshades as he stared out at the city. "No, s'all right. It's not something we think about much." He shrugged. "Who could? You'd go absolutely frothing mad. But then, I think that's the whole point of the test, m’self... If he knows you can go through the worst doubts you could possibly have, and still be there for him, there'd be no better proof that he really is your purpose."

"S'true, in'nit," Two said. "Once you've signed your own contract, you understand them all."

More lights passed, while iSmith tried to think of a less touchy topic. "Have you been working for him very long? I mean, wow-- you said you're his elite guards...?"

The Twins were silent for a moment, then burst into stereo cackles.

iSmith stared at them, startled. "Is that a no?"

Two was the first to catch his breath. "We've been with him for a LONG, long while. Not as old as some, but long enough."

"Yes... Fat lot of good it does telling him this now, though," said One to his sibling. Seeing iSmith's confused look return, he went on. "See, we've... well, long story short, we've been serving penance for a while. Had a bit of a scuffle trying to bring back a rogue program for the boss."

"From a bunch of upstart humans. With their own arsenal. Who could fly. Oh, and with a group of Agents on our tail, too, all from in the middle of a fucking busy freeway." Two forced a grin, though the groan drawling from his throat spoke his true feelings. "I'd say we did damned well, against those odds..."

"Oh, yes, I'd agree," said One, crossing his arms. "Still, the boss added another bargain to our pile, after all that. How did he put it, again...?"

Two picked up his brother's thought, his voice gaining a high-pitched French accent. "One day for each string ‘e had to pull, each favor ‘e had to buy, to make sure we were not z’ent back and erased right zhen and zhere!"

One snickered. "You do that too well for our own good... So, yes, until then-- I think there's only a couple months left by now, isn't there?-- we've got all the high-class jobs, like picking up his dry cleaning, or... well, rescuing his pet," he said, motioning towards the back seat.

iSmith stayed quiet, his mind still thudding from the effort of having to think so much. "How do I pass the test, though? I mean, I can't just ask him to stop..."

Two nodded to the rear-view mirror. "And you haven't. You notice that? If we'd stayed quiet, we'd've been sitting through your he-hates-me whining even now." He smiled, noticing the landscape finally shift to sparse hillsides. "Can't promise you anything, of course. But if we get the chance, s'pose we could try putting in a mention for you." He turned to One. "After all, low rank or not, it’s getting a bit tiring to keep dragging back his pet when he chases it off."

One frowned. "Keep in mind, though, he still loves to poke at everyone’s nerves. Doubt that'll ever change. He'll call him One, and me Two, trash like that..."

"Oh, yes indeed. Those being the names he gave us under contract, of course," Two said. "Do you really think we'd choose names like that?"

"Um... If you don't mind my asking," iSmith spoke up, "How does he tell you apart?"

The Twins smirked, as if they’d been expecting the question. "We just know. So does he," Two said. "Ah, and here we are..." He gestured to the front window; the Chateau grew closer on the horizon. "Home sweet fucked-up home."

As the car slowed to a park in the garage level below, iSmith rubbed at his forehead, trying to clear his dizziness enough to see if he could walk yet. "I don't know if I'd get in trouble for asking you, but would you like to come in, stay a while longer? I could find something for you to eat, or drink, maybe-- I've liked the... getting to talk with you both."

One shrugged and looked to Two, saying, "I don't see why it would be a problem. No snacks, though, thanks."

iSmith struggled on shaky feet to step out from the car, smiling as One moved to help brace his arm. "Thank you... Really? Why? ...Didn't you get the usual upgrades?"

"Oh, yes, we did," smirked One. "Food doesn't tend to agree with us as well as fumes do, though." iSmith was about to ask him why, only to fall silent. Two had rustled a cigarette from a pocket of his white trenchcoat, bringing it up to his lips. He grasped it between his teeth... and disappeared, turning to a shimmering, Two-shaped mist, his dreadlocks now a lashing cape of tendrils behind him.

iSmith hardly had time to gasp before the Two-cloud whirled about and returned to his solid self in midair, snatching the falling cigarette with his teeth once more, without ever allowing it a chance to touch the ground. He stood tall and gave an exaggerated stage bow, grinning at iSmith's look of awe. Through the cigarette still in his jaws, he said, "Not bad, hm?"

While he helped iSmith towards the doors to the Chateau itself, One remarked, "Looks even more impressive when we do that with bullets."


***
It was never mentioned again, but after I had that talk with the Twins, things went back to normal between Mr. M and me. One and Two and I still talk, on the odd days they're not busy with their old job again-- turns out they can't stand watching "Poltergeist," though. I made sure to have "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" sitting out on the regular shelf one day, when I knew they'd be dropping by for a while... Who knew they'd end up enjoying it? I tell ya, you never can tell with some people! ;)

I tend to hang out around the television lounge most days, even when I


Sorry about that... Where was I? Oh, yeah-- I'm there even when I know nobody I know'll be passing through. I met up with Vinci's (tee hee!) wife there not too long ago, though. I'm still not completely sure what her problem was that day, but I'd rather not give myself a headache thinking about it too much.
***


"Will you quit that damn humming? This is my favorite scene!"

iSmith paused, muttering a quick 'sorry' to the burly man watching Cujo from the couch behind him. Still, as he turned back to face his reflection in one of the television room's glass cabinets, his giddy grin remained. He ran his fingers over the light pink collar around his neck, making the small, heart-shaped gold tag that hung from it bob about lazily. For the thousandth time that day, iSmith turned the tag over, revealing the letter M engraved on its back.

The Merovingian had given him another present.

He was far too absorbed with his new gift to notice Persephone walking into the room. He also failed to hear the sputter of surprise from the couch, and the scuffling noise soon afterwards, as the lackey ran out... Only when Persephone grabbed iSmith by the shoulder and spun him to face her did he notice his boss's wife, who glared at him with crazed, hateful eyes.

"Do you think I wouldn't notice?" she spat, batting a finger against iSmith's new collar. "I cannot stand this any more! I've seen you waltzing about here all day long. You knew I would be here today, didn't you?! I wouldn't put it past you to brag like this... You know what I'm talking about!"

"That he knows a good thing when he sees it?" iSmith replied, giving her a playful smirk.

Persephone slapped him.

"Oww...! Why'd you--?" sputtered iSmith, bringing a hand up to the fresh red welt across his face. It didn't hurt, of course, but the shock of it was enough for him to feel a similar sting.

"I probably don't even know of half the reasons I had for doing that," Persephone shot back, her voice low and trembling. "It is bad enough to see his interest fading even further away from me, since he has gotten you-- but to have you shove the fact in my face, like you do! No longer--!"

iSmith found himself staring down the barrel of a handgun, and paled, yelping. Persephone spoke to him, her voice taking the gleeful tone of someone who knows they have the upper hand. "Go ahead, try to scream. I can make up any reason I wish, and the guards will follow my orders." She cocked the gun, smirking. "My husband should know his toys can always be broken..."

"Wh... what do you want?" iSmith managed, raising his hands in surrender.

Persephone sighed, and shook her head sadly. "I don't ask such questions anymore. I already know I'm past the point of ever truly getting back what I want... All I have left is to try remembering what it was like to have." She glared at iSmith. "I don't ask this of programs very often, but I trust you could help me better than anyone else here."

"Ask...?" echoed iSmith.

"I want you to kiss me," Persephone ordered, gripping the gun tighter. "If I can't have my husband's affections, I at least want to know why you would be more special to him than I am. I need to know!"

iSmith tried to crack a smile. "Lemme see... give you a kiss, or have my brains on the wall... that's a tough one-- Ah! Just kidding just kidding!" he added in a panic, seeing Persephone's finger twitch over the trigger. "Sure! I, just-- lead the way, I guess!"

Persephone frowned, lowering the gun. "I don't even want to think of where your mouth has been on him by now, but..." She drew closer, bringing her arms up to straddle him against the wall. "I want you to kiss me as if you were kissing him. And no jokes! Understand, I am only giving you this one chance."

Her lips met his, and pressed further, as if she were robbing his mouth. The frenzied barking of a dog played on from the flickering screen nearby. iSmith closed his eyes and whimpered, the feeling of powerlessness unbearably familiar...

Persephone finally leaned her head back, exhaling slowly. "Disgusting," she said, and grimaced. "Absolutely disgusting."

iSmith blinked, unsure of whether he should be apologizing or not. He stayed silent as Persephone kept talking, mostly due to the gun still in her hand. "I see it now. You don't truly know whether or not you love him, do you? It pains you always... You try to hide the question from yourself, but you can never know if you are even capable of such a thing."

She shook her head, giving iSmith a sad, tired look. Perhaps it was sympathy that showed in her eyes. "And even if you could know, it would not matter. Even if you come to loathe him, you will still need him."

Persephone lingered where she was, her gaze shifting off towards nowhere in particular. On the television screen, a dog licked its bloody jaws...

"He deserves you," she said to iSmith quietly, and walked out of the room.


***
So that's all I've got to say for now. For a reject copy, I don't think I've done all that badly, wouldn't you agree? :)

As far as right now, though, I'm getting kinda worried today. It's


Sorry... This is what I mean, though! It's been a whole week now, and Mr. M still hasn't come back. I mean, I know, he can't, he's away, but I still


I

***

iSmith cursed under his breath. His pen had fallen out of his hand again, bouncing and rolling somewhere on the floor, maybe under the couch he was writing from. The pen stayed where it had fallen, ignored.

He could feel it. The chill would be coming back, any moment now... iSmith balled his hands into fists and hugged his arms to his chest, bracing himself in a fetal ball as he started shivering uncontrollably once more.

Once he could think again, iSmith wondered if he was going to be reliving those horrible days of his test all over again. That thought alone brought the cold feeling back with a vengeance. He tried grinding his teeth against each other, so he wouldn't bite down on his tongue this time... and eventually, the shakes passed. At least for now, iSmith thought, frowning sadly at the scattered pile of stationery around him. He started picking up the sheets, wondering how long it would be before the next chill hit...

"Yo...! Oscar Wilde!" came a voice. iSmith looked up to see one of his boss's lackeys-- Cain, was that his name?-- walk into the room. He tossed a small brown package at iSmith's lap, snickering as iSmith fumbled helplessly to try catching it. "Mail call. Enjoy," Cain said, and headed out towards the Chateau's hallways.

iSmith clutched the package in both hands, shifting it about to see if there was any address, any writing on it at all... nothing. He picked away at the string bindings and tore through the wrapping to open the box...

A crystal perfume bottle was nestled inside, filled to the brim with something thick and milky-white. A string tied around the stopper held a folded paper card.

"I never forget my word. Sincerely, M," iSmith read, tears welling up in his eyes. He held the bottle to his chest and sighed, lifting one finger to trail along the edge of his pink collar wistfully.

"He remembered me..."


***FIN***







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French translations:
dernier à partir = last one left; “last one out the door”
Mon dieu! = My god!
mon ami = my friend
raison d'être = “reason to be”
oui = yes
travail magnifique = splendid job
mon petit ami doux = my sweet little friend
un moment = one moment
souci pas = do not worry
très unique = very original
au revoir = goodbye