WARNING: This fanfic contains strong language and sexual content, including domination/submission themes between two male-bodied computer constructs, genital torture, and nonconsensual sex of a sadistic nature, and as such should not be read by anyone who’s not physically, emotionally, and any other -lly mature enough to legally read such material yet. This means you, fifteen-year-olds hiding printouts of this under your History notes. Yes, I can see you. Do your parents know about this? ...Honestly. It’s as simple as this: YOU’RE NOT LEGAL? YOU DON’T READ! Sheesh. Kids these days... Ahem. I don’t own the Matrix series; the Wachowskis and Warner Bros. Pictures do. Canon characters are being used without permission. No profit is being made from this file. English translations for the French words in this fic are listed after the story itself. Happy Fun Ball is doubleplus ungoodthink, Comrades.

NOTE: This story takes place between the events of iFics "Just Cause" and "New Tricks." Anyone reading this story out of order with the other parts of the iFic series is subject to their own confusion. So there.

That should be it. Enjoy, folks! ...Oh, and make sure to keep all limbs and/or potential orifices inside the vehicle during your stay. Especially in cases of sudden turbulence. (Trust me.)

-----------------

Blue
by Apricot the Gerbil


Spittle dripped down from around the human's gag in red-tinged strands, his teeth gnawing uselessly around the rubber plug. He gulped down a few ragged breaths-- only to strain it all away in another scream. His suited inquisitor had just pushed another toothpick past his bleeding slit of foreskin, farther this time. Sinews popped rigid against the metal cuffs holding his limbs in place.

The touch of cool fingers drifted over the prisoner's mouth, snapping the gag loose; the human let out a sound that was half cough, half whimper, raspy and raw. His head lolled back as far as the restraints and the slab behind him would allow. Through the blindfolded void of his senses, that same, metal-sharp voice cut through the pain once more: "And to think you were doing so well, up until that last question! Now, you're going to tell me where this 'Doc' person is hiding their supplies, or I'll just have to keep going."

"I... I dun'no..." the human managed, giving a feeble toss of his head. "N-n'more-- please, dun'no...!"

"Well now. That's too bad for you, 'cause that's not what I've been told!" iSmith brought the small box of toothpicks up to the prisoner's ear and shook it, a smirk growing on his face as it rattled. "I've got a few hundred more doses of persuasion left, here. You can make this easy for yourself and spill the details, or we can be here for days..."

Pats of golf-clapping applause could suddenly be heard from the interrogation room's entrance. iSmith spun around, and flinched, seeing his master's silhouette there in the doorway.

"Hard at work, as always, I see!" said the Merovingian, giving iSmith a grin. He closed the door behind him, striding closer to look at the bleeding human on the slab as if viewing a piece in some quaint art gallery. "I almost feel bad for interrupting. But, then, you already know why I would be here."

iSmith's eyes narrowed, though he was careful not to frown. He gestured towards his still-dazed prisoner with the box of toothpicks, mumbling, "I'm... kinda busy."

The Merovingian replied with a quiet, displeased snort. "Really? Are you now? I would have thought you'd be more polite about receiving such a favor. You do notice I am seeing you two days earlier than your usual, yes?"

"...Yes," iSmith said, drooping his head against the pink feather boa wrapped around his neck-- a rather lackluster half-bow. He turned to snap the human's gag back into place.

"Now, now. Make sure you don't rupture anything in your delight," his master sneered. "Could it be, you are not very excited at the idea?"

iSmith only fidgeted, glancing over at the captive, and closed his eyes. "It just feels... odd. When there's someone else right here."

A smug grin grew along the Merovingian's face. His hand lowered to grasp iSmith's tie, pulling his pet towards him for an eye-to-eye stare. His other arm snaked around iSmith's back, fingers slipping underneath his suit's black blazer. "So modest!" he chuckled, his voice lowering huskily. "Not to worry, mon petit... we'll make sure to give him a nice little show."

The side of iSmith's lip twitched, but other than that, he was silent, staring back with such a stonefaced look of calm that it seemed forced. The Merovingian tried not to laugh... He wasn't exactly sure how his pet had come to such a decision, but it was obvious iSmith had been trying to suppress displaying any trace of emotion for some time now. How ironic, that he would be resorting to such a human response as denial to protect himself from human feelings he didn't understand...

As he picked loose iSmith's belt, the Merovingian found himself idly wondering if his pet hated him. It was true, iSmith's change happened soon after his silly idea that there was any romantic attachment between them had been knocked down. Any techniques his pet used to perform had since been abandoned, in favor of outright bend-over-and-have-at-it sessions. With iSmith's shift in attitude, that sense of eagerness he always showed-- the kind that made getting suckled and blown by him feel so satisfying-- had disappeared as well.

Not that his pet's motivations mattered much. He was still a dependable quick fuck to have on hand, after all... The Merovingian smirked, tugging the belt free. He put a hand on his pet's chest, giving him a shove towards the nearest wall; the box of toothpicks clattered softly to the floor... As long as his pet kept putting out, he had far more important things to bother worrying about. iSmith still knew what his master liked to feel when he was inside him, and admittedly did his job better than most of the chatty lady socialites the Merovingian usually sampled from.

Even so, the Merovingian now used iSmith for a different sort of game. It was adorably precious how his pet would fight, straining with every last bit of his willpower, to resist showing any enjoyment from his master's actions. The Merovingian shuffled iSmith's pants downwards, then moved up to give him a slow lick just above the pink feathers around his neck, his tongue dancing along the jawline's cool skin. Even now, his pet was quiet and still... It was like he was courting a mannequin.

However, iSmith could indeed be broken, he'd found. He could never predict when his pet would be worn down, but any sessions without a reaction only meant that the Merovingian's next victory would be all the sweeter. Just like gourmet dishes, he thought to himself-- such rare emotion could be all the more enjoyable after a short fast from the taste. Whether his pet would start to tremble under his thrusts and let those tiny, beautiful whimpers fall from his throat, just like in the old days, or whether it was feeling tears run down his face-- the method of display mattered little. Anything that flayed apart iSmith's stubborn, emotionless facade, allowing the Merovingian to savor that powerless spark of humanity his pet tried so desperately to hide from him...

There was no challenge whatsoever in taking his pet, not when iSmith had an obligation to let him do so. The excitement now lay in drawing out that hidden lust, in making his pet squirm, bringing him to enjoy his own unavoidable human urges-- that was the sign of truly being this exotic little hybrid's master. Few aphrodisiacs in the Matrix could match the rush he felt from finally wrenching free such a prize-- grasping that flash of vulnerability in his clutches, ramming into it until he sprayed himself dry, marking his pet from the inside out as his own, all while hearing iSmith beg for more.

The Merovingian smirked at the blindfolded, delirious human stretched out before the two of them. It was only fitting that such a performance should be carried out before an audience.

He ran his fingers along iSmith's shoulders, turning him around to face the wall with little effort. As if by routine, iSmith raised his hands and placed them against the cold, gray tiles to steady himself. The Merovingian found himself chuckling, leaning closer to embrace his pet from behind. "Yes, you already know just what to do, don't you, mon peu putain?"

His touch slid underneath the tapered ends of iSmith's white shirt, coming to rest on the smoothness between his legs. "I want you to be slippery, today. Wet enough for me to slide about with little trouble, but not so sloppy that I can't still feel your grip." He noted a tiny twitch as the skin shifted, and patted iSmith's front. "Do what you wish, for the rest."

There was no change under his fingers... Ah, well, he thought. Making his pet want to form something could always be an entertaining challenge. "And let's get rid of this, shall we?" The Merovingian lifted the feather boa from iSmith's neck, tossing it aside to the floor. "I don't understand what you see in that trinket. I preferred the collar much more."

Silence.

"You know, you remind me of my wife, sometimes," the Merovingian sighed, unlacing the front of his pants with his free hand. "When she's not telling me she has to do all the work, that is." He reached in to give his penis a few strokes; with a moment of concentration, the Merovingian willed his code to shift to an aroused state-- to keep a strong enough erection to push inside, at least. He slid in with little resistance, bringing his chin to rest on his pet's shoulder with a groan. "You may both be filthy little sluts, but at least you never complain of having a headache."

The Merovingian paused. He could feel his pet give a small shake under him, more than his own motions would have caused... was that a gasp he'd just heard? "Are you feeling cold?" he asked.

"No," came iSmith's answer, monotone-flat.

Was it something he'd said? the Merovingian wondered. He smirked, growing curious. "Could it be... you like being called a slut, little one?"

iSmith said nothing.

That's right, he had never insulted his pet in anything other than French, had he? Oh, this could be an exciting surprise... The Merovingian brought one hand up to grip around iSmith's throat, his grin growing wider over clenched teeth. "That's right, I should expect no more from a disgusting little wretch such as you, should I?" He pulled back for another thrust, searching his mind for stronger words. "Nothing more than a crusty shit-bucket-- just a toilet for me to spill into, when I want to come but don't want to waste any effort!"

Oh my, his pet was starting to shiver... He exhaled a slow, hissing burst of breath into iSmith's hair and kept going. "I could pull out and use you as a toilet right now, you know! ...But you'd enjoy that too much, wouldn't you... Ah, seeing your face all stinking and wet-- no, even getting pissed on is too good for you!!" A fresh wave of lust surged through his senses; his pulse felt like it was pounding fire through his erection at every tiny, growing flutter from the body under him. The Merovingian let go of his pet's neck, reaching down to rub iSmith's groin instead. He rolled the flat skin along his fingers, giving it little pinches whenever he pushed further in his slow rocking. His pet's resistance was about to buckle any moment now, he could feel it...

He pulled away, then slammed in harder. "But you LIKE it, don't you, you sick, worthless little whore?! Yeees, I can tell... you don't care where it comes from, just so long as you get some filth dumped inside you!"

"ahh-- god..." iSmith whispered. A guilty shudder wracked his body, feeling the short stub of an erection press out from him to quiver against his master's warm fingers. "I, I-- don't--" His voice choked off in a gasp as the Merovingian's touch met the tender new pouch underneath as well.

"You don't?" echoed the Merovingian, chuckling from deep in his throat. "But you do, my little one, you do! You just did...! Ah, but why worry over such things? If this pleasures you so, it would be a shame not to enjoy it." He rolled iSmith's balls about in his hand and gave them a gentle squeeze, grinning at his pet's moan. "Fucking cumguzzler."

iSmith's head lowered in defeat. Even as his coded penis-tip sunk away, he gave a feeble buck of his hips, pushing the remaining flesh further into the Merovingian's hand. His words were almost lost in a whimper: "Please don't stop...!"

His master complied, adding a flick of his nail now and then as he toyed with the dangling skin. "Of course... You always did love getting touched here the most, didn't you? Horrible little faggot." The Merovingian gave the sack a tug, ever so slow, then let go-- and gasped himself; his pet's sudden clamp against his cock almost made him come right there. He squinted, willing himself to hold on. He could tell he wouldn't last long by now, but there was no way he'd cut his time short when his pet was finally responding so well.

He rocked back for another thrust and returned his fingers to where they'd left off, listening to iSmith's tiny gasps quicken. As he felt his pet’s body arching against his own, the Merovingian’s voice stayed low, lilting into his pet's ear: "Must be driving you insane, you insatiable bitch-- I can feel that arse of yours quiver and jump so... If it were not up to me, you would have been finished long before now, yes?"

Another tug, stronger this time. "Well, your master is about to spill as well. Feel honored-- you're going to get that disgusting fuckhole of yours fed! You don’t even deserve it, but I know you. You want to be filled up..." Squeeze.

"Want to enjoy being graced with my cum, after being such a naughty little slut, don't you--"

Squeeze.

"Yes...?"

iSmith clenched back with all the strength he had left.

"YES OH PLEASE YES AAAH--!!"

He trailed off screaming, feeling his master strain and growl out a wet explosion between the both of them. It was all iSmith could do not to collapse, but the Agents’ programming within him kept his arms braced firm against the wall, as if his coding could tell everything else was worn out. There was only that strange feeling of peace, warmth, of floating... iSmith heard the Merovingian's voice-- there, now, shh-shhh-- and felt his master gently guiding him down to sit on the floor, but it was all through a fog. It was only when he came back to his senses minutes later that iSmith realized he was sobbing...

The Merovingian walked the few steps back from where he'd been checking on the prisoner, and crouched before his pet. "We must have been too much for your friend," he said, smiling. "It seems he has fainted. The better for us to be alone, I suppose." He ran his hands along iSmith's shoulders, then shook them, as if trying to wake him from a deep sleep. "Such a surprise you can be, little one! I would never have thought you enjoyed being cursed to!"

iSmith only pulled his legs closer to his chest and stared down blankly at his slacks, still undone and crumpled around him. He choked back another sob, avoiding the Merovingian's gaze. When he finally spoke, iSmith's words could barely be heard, his voice tiny and trembling.

"Why do you keep doing this?"

The Merovingian leaned closer, eyebrows raising in curiosity. "What do you mean, mon petit? Keep doing what?"

"Keep finding new ways you can hurt me." iSmith sniffled again, shaking his head back and forth in an almost childlike tic. "I can't do this anymore, not when you won't ever, ever stop...! You make me think you want me, and then it turns out you don't. You want me to change and be my own person and then you don't care, or you get mad if I do. You made me think I LOVED you, and then you ripped that out and killed it like everything else..." New tears trailed down; iSmith had to stop and cough the thickness out from his throat. "And so I tried shutting off anything that would let you hurt me again but you won’t let me stop FEELING THIS!!"

He jerked his head up to face his master, eyes pleading. "So now you've found something that makes me feel good, even if it's just 'cause maybe you're finally telling me the truth-- and if that's the only thing left I can feel good from, that means you'll use it to hurt me again or pull it away from me somehow, I know you will 'cause you ALWAYS do!"

The Merovingian kept watching, his raised brow betraying his shock; it seemed that once iSmith had finally begun to protest, the words kept coming, like a dam destroyed. A chuckle fell from iSmith's throat, quick and humorless. "I mean, how stupid is that? The only nice thing I've got left to hold onto is that I really am no better than shit! What happens when that gets taken away?! I QUIT! I just can't do it anymore-- and if that means you have to delete me, then-- then, I--!"

iSmith trailed off, unable to finish. His haunted stare spoke what he couldn't.

The room was silent. The Merovingian's expression shifted from surprise to a frown so flat and calm as to be suspicious. He cleared his throat and glanced away, fidgeting his tie clasp back into place. "I was not aware I had become a figure of such foreboding."

He was admittedly more taken aback that iSmith had dared to raise his voice against him, though he was at a loss as to what his response to such a genuine protest should be. Somehow, he doubted iSmith would take 'It took you this long to figure it out?!' as an answer kindly. He hid his indecision with practiced ease, looking over to the human instead. "How much did you end up finding out, from this one?"

iSmith blinked, but felt too tired to bother being confused. "He said the rebel team got their supplies from someone named 'Doc'. They were passing them through some private company to make sure they weren't being traced. Wouldn't tell me where they were being hidden. That's all I got," he shot back, ending with a wet sniff. "Why?"

The Merovingian crossed his arms, closing his eyes in thought. "Bon-- C'est comment il est. That is more than we'd gotten from him before... not everything I suspect he is hiding from me, but it will do for now." He returned his attention to his pet, saying, "I can wait for the rest of his answers a while longer. As for you, tidy yourself and follow me."

He watched iSmith stand up on shaky legs, continuing as his pet rustled his pants back up. "I would hate to lose such a fond pet to a decision of haste, but if you truly mean what you say about your deletion, I must see where I can make time in my schedule. We must... have words."

When he opened the door, the Merovingian turned to face his pet, his expression unreadable. iSmith halted where he stood and looked towards the floor. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Sorry?" repeated his master. He chuckled softly, leaning his hand to scruff at the blackish-brown hair of his pet's head. "Don't apologize, little one. You are a creature of passion, one who yearns for meaning-- I knew that when I chose you. Never feel sorry for being honest with your nature."

The Merovingian started down the snaking gray hallways of the Chateau's basement. iSmith kept closely behind as they walked, his head bowed silently, as if he were approaching a funeral.

Perhaps, he thought to himself, he soon would be.

---

The next few hours were a blur for iSmith. He was left to wait in a spare bedroom, but found little solace there from his nerves, much less enough to try sleeping. The time passed only with the orderly ticking of a carved wooden clock set on the wall, second by second by second by maddening second. Like getting bitten by a swarm of gnats in single file, iSmith thought, shoving his head deeper into a fluffy feather pillow.

It was precisely six hours, forty-one minutes, and eighteen ticks later-- there was nothing he could do but count them-- when the Merovingian finally returned to the bedroom, motioning his pet to follow him to a small sitting room down the hall. A table for two had been set, with folded napkin triangles, a pair of slim glass wine flutes, an uncorked bottle of rust-colored wine, and a single flickering candle already awaiting them. iSmith was taken aback at the splendor, though he knew a servant had doubtlessly been the one to carry out the effort for the scene itself. He gave his master a meek, grateful nod as he pulled iSmith's seat from the table, sitting down quickly. "Thank you."

"Of course," the Merovingian said, smiling. He took his own seat, then gestured to the bottle before him. "Would you care for some wine?"

"No thank you," replied iSmith, fidgeting his fingers through the thick silk of his napkin with barely hidden anxiety. After noticing the familiar paper of his contract placed on the Merovingian's side of the table, he kept his gaze fixed on the tablecloth.

His master nodded, poured himself a glass... and then filled iSmith's wine glass as well. iSmith looked up and squinted, confused. "I'm sorry, I said--"

"I know what you said," the Merovingian interrupted. "But you should know by now that you have very little say in your decisions. That is the very reason you are sitting with me, here."

iSmith frowned, but gave a solemn nod.

"Now, you may have said you wish to bring your existence to a close, but in the end, this decision is also not up to you. You see, little one, a choice is only as good as the options those in power will allow the one who chooses."

The Merovingian paused, sipping delicately from his glass. He returned it to the table, picking up the sheet of paper. "You have signed a contract with me, and it is true, you spoke against my wishes, effectively breaking that contract. However, no matter what you may think, I have found you very... intriguing, in your past service. I do not wish to cast such a prize back to the Source, and as the one who owns you, I am the one who decides how your service will be ended."

"So-- what do you mean?" iSmith furrowed his brow, not sure which idea he was more uncomfortable with. "Even if I broke my contract, no matter what, I have to keep on going like this as long as you say I do?"

"I would not use the words 'like this'," said the Merovingian. "You should remember, your coding can always be altered to some degree. I have given you upgrades in the past to add to your senses and skills, or remove troublesome ones. Why should your memories be any different?"

iSmith froze at the words. "You... you want to get rid of my memories?"

"You would rather be deleted entirely?" asked his master. He chuckled, taking another sip, then held the glass out before him in the balance of one careful hand. "This is one of my favorite wines, you know... I would certainly not want to forget what has pleased me the most, over all these years. You have not seen nearly as many centuries pass, true-- but surely you must have some recollections you would rather keep, yes?"

With another taste of the wine, the Merovingian put down the glass to rest his arms on the table, his fingers entwining. "Tell me, what would you hold precious enough to keep with you in your memory, if all else were to be wiped away?"

There was a short silence. iSmith closed his eyes, mouth pursed thin in thought. His sibling errored-copy Agent came to mind, but he too had been deleted, in the end... The sight of the computer he got his name from, perhaps? Or maybe when he watched the movie that'd given him the idea for his new personality. Or meeting the Twins, and realizing he wasn't so alone among the Exiles. Or the pink collar he'd received as a gift, before he came to see it as a constant reminder of his own powerlessness... or most importantly, that warm feeling he had when his master would give him his code. Back when it still seemed like something magical, a moment of utter joy-- not something routine, to be held over his head to keep him in his place. Back when he thought he was still wanted, even if it ended up being a lie... Those times already seemed like unbearable ages ago.

The Merovingian raised an impatient eyebrow at his pet. "Do you consider your past with me so miserable, that you can think of nothing at all?"

"I've picked one." iSmith opened his eyes. "After I saw that machine lady, the Ambassador. You'd given me a present. Those peacock feathers... It was that night..." He kept his steady gaze at his master, even as tears welled up in his eyes all over again. "I still don't even know what you were saying while you were there on top of me, but that was the only time where I could see your face. And I didn't know anything else, just you were there-- it was just you and me, you were inside me, and everything was so soft and warm and-- and perfect."

He stared down towards the tablecloth again, looking at the dark blots of his teardrops. "It was just... perfect." he mumbled.

iSmith heard his master give a short chuckle. "How very cute," the Merovingian said. "Let me see. When the Ambassador had that meeting with you... I had already instructed you in how to use the upgrades you were given, yes? I don't recall any problematic times I had with you, before that." He nodded to himself, a businesslike tone returning to his voice. "What would you say, if I allowed you to keep all your memories until the end of that night?"

"...Even if I just ended up having the same things happen again?"

"There would be no guarantee, this is true. But I would not mind offering you this same chance again, if you ever return to a state of such... inoperable torment. It took you quite a long time to grow so discontent as to think of such a choice, did it not?"

"You wouldn't mind? But I wouldn't ever learn anything! I might just keep going around in circles forever, wouldn't I?" protested iSmith, shifting with slight unease.

The Merovingian tipped a finger towards him, smiling. "But you would keep your most cherished memories. Think of it! No matter how much time passes or how many worries come upon you-- if you ever find yourself so troubled as to beg to be erased, you can wake upon your life anew. A familiar world to rediscover, with the only troubles in your mind vanished. A clean slate, as they say. How many, human or program, could say they had such a blessing bestowed upon them?"

His pet's suspicious look remained. "Why would you do this? What's in it for you?"

"Ahh, you've finally realized the important question as well!" said the Merovingian. His smile widened, a predator's grin. "I will remain the owner of one of the most unique programs the Matrix has yet brought my way. One that not only has the most trustworthy sense of obedience I could ask for, but has just enough of a human's curiosity to be an unending delight to me. As you grow and change, you create for yourself different talents all your own-- your imagination, devotion, your ability to adapt... Because of this, you become powerful in ways few programs ever could."

His hands separated, the fingers of one curling to a fist. "And if any of these traits you learn should become troublesome, I can take each of them away as I choose. No matter what. You will be the perfect pet for me, always."

iSmith thought over this for a moment, then sighed in defeat. "So I really don't have a choice at all, do I?"

"You decided which memories you wish to keep. That action, like all others, has its consequences," the Merovingian said. "But, yes-- so much ruckus in this world could be prevented if people only accepted how little control they truly have of their circumstances. To embrace this fact is to release one's self from such pesky illusions as 'morality' or 'responsibility'."

"Easy to say when you've got all the power," muttered iSmith.

His eyes flew open wide in the wake of the stunned silence that followed. iSmith was about to apologize, but kept silent; his master had suddenly burst into a stream of high-pitched chuckles. "Ah, little one, I can only hope you are still this adorable by the next time we have this conversation," chortled the Merovingian, shaking his head. "Even when the truths of this world are laid out before you, you remain brazen enough to give them a poke!"

iSmith reached for his wine glass, trying to hide the tremble in his hands as he took a hesitant sip. "Okay, so I'm not getting a choice. When would this happen?"

"Now that I know what coding to keep, I can have the process set up for you within the day," the Merovingian replied. "It's as simple as setting the appointment with my expert in such matters."

"I hope I'm not causing you any trouble with this," iSmith said flatly.

"Not at all!" The Merovingian waved a hand in dismissal. If he noticed the sarcasm, he didn't acknowledge it. "Connections and contacts are but a side benefit of my business. In exchange for their continued existence, the Exiles I have salvaged are only happy to provide favors for me." With a final swig, he emptied his glass, patting his mouth dry with his napkin. "Now you must excuse me, for arrangements must be made, and I have other matters I must attend to in the meantime."

iSmith watched his master stand and leave the table, crying out just before the Merovingian was through the doorway: "Hey! What am I supposed to do 'till you get back?"

---

iSmith groaned again, turning around on the bed to face the ticking box on the wall, wishing he could explode it to a million pieces by the bitterness in his stare alone.

He was really starting to hate that damned clock.

He'd gotten as far as walking up to it and slamming his fist against the wood, far too many ticks ago. His hand weakened at the last moment, though-- even when about to get his brain wiped by the very same person, he still couldn't bring himself to smash something that belonged to his master.

As he laid there, stuck in a staredown with the clock's blank face, iSmith debated the idea in his mind. Why shouldn't he break the stupid thing? He'd been through enough already, hadn't he? This could be his last act of defiance. It would be so easy, too... iSmith fantasized himself leaping up from the bed. Two bounds, three at the most, and one quick, satisfying snap-- even if he were to stomp it to a shambles there on the floor, it would take hardly any effort at all. Come on, he thought to himself, get up... GET UP!

But by then, the door to the spare bedroom was already opening, and it was too late. He found himself wondering how many more last chances he'd get with that clock, in all his lifetimes to come. Would he ever manage to go through with it?

The Merovingian was first through the door, with two flanking guards drawing back to usher in the newcomer. The program stepping in looked so convincingly ripped from any of the Megacity’s trendy coffee bars that at first, iSmith had to wonder if some poor fool of a human had gotten dragged into this situation by mistake. The young man glanced about the room from behind thin, clear glasses, his tan dreadlocks bobbing as he carried a small suitcase over to the end of the bed. He looked up at iSmith and flashed a cheery smile. "This my patient for today?"

"Indeed it is," said the Merovingian, nodding to each of them in introduction. "My pet, iSmith-- iSmith, this is Monsieur Norton, my most knowledgeable of repairmen. He ran into some troubles after the machines deemed his interests in the humans to be adversely affecting his work... So much the better, to take one so skilled under my own wing, yes?"

Norton extended a hand to iSmith for a greeting shake. "Hey. Nice'ta meetcha!"

"Um... me too," iSmith mumbled, fumbling for the right words to say to one's own mental executioner. His eyes fell to the words printed in green along Norton's black tee shirt: C:DOS. C:DOS/RUN. RUN/DOS/RUN.

Norton noticed his confusion. "Oh, that. Heh-- S'kind of an inside joke." iSmith scarcely had time to smile back before Norton zipped over to his suitcase again, opening the latches to lift out a sleek, silver laptop computer and a twisted length of cable.

"Need just a second to set up, here," Norton mumbled to the room, takking some keys on the laptop. He plugged one side of the cable into a small side port of the computer, untangling the loops to hold up a slim needle on the other end. "Hold still. This might tingle at first," he warned iSmith. With steady-handed aim and one quick jab, the needletip was buried snugly in his patient's shirtcuff.

iSmith sat up, curious to see what was being done from the computer. He watched Norton pull up an Internet browser to display what seemed to be an official-looking health advice website. Norton smirked as he clicked the "Members Only" section, signing in through the resulting page full of password prompts. The screen suddenly changed to a flurry of trailing green code.

"Piece of torté," quipped Norton. He paused, tipping his glasses higher onto his nose, and gave a slow whistle at the code. "How'd you manage this, boss? Is it supposed to be like... like over here, and here, with--" He swiped a circle around a section of code on the screen with his finger.

"It's all very normal for this one, yes," the Merovingian said. "I assume this will not be a great setback for you...?"

"No, no problem. Just makin' sure." Norton set to work at the keyboard, stopping once to retrieve two data disc cases and a black marker from his suitcase. As iSmith stared on in confusion, he paused to insert and switch the two discs from a slot in the laptop. "Heh. Y'always did have a thing for rare stuff... Okay, backups are done. As requested-- this one in the red case's got it in full. Blue one's the partial. I'll just mark them to tell 'em apart, here..."

Norton scribbled a few quick words onto the discs and slapped them in their cases. He handed them over to the Merovingian, who pocketed them in his coat, silently shifting the blue case to the top. "Merci. How very kind of you," he replied. "And the procedure itself? Am I needed any further, before he is restarted?"

"Actually, at this point, I guess not. You're welcome to watch, though. Should be about a half hour, all in all," mumbled Norton, brow furrowed over the laptop monitor. "Almost ready..." He pried his gaze away to look at iSmith. "I'm gonna be doing a total reboot here, so you're gonna have to lie back and relax until the shutdown command goes through."

iSmith wasn't listening. He watched his master turn, and begin to walk out of the room, as if seeing it in slow motion... No. He wouldn't. He wasn't going to...?

"Master? No... no please don't leave me here! MASTER!!"

"Whoa! Hey, hang on there, man!" Norton's voice called out from beside him. iSmith could feel the other program's hands grabbing him, shoving him down onto the bed, but all he could think of was that figure in the black silk coat, walking out of sight, not even pausing for a last backward glance...

And he was gone.

Moved to the next room, the next continent-- at this point, it made no difference.

"I didn't want to-- not in the end, I..." iSmith stammered. There was only the soft hum of the computer, and a squeak from the mattress, as he gave up and lie still. His body felt colder all of a sudden-- snaking through him like an icy fog, swallowing him...

"Easy, fella. Eaaasy, now," Norton soothed, brushing softly against his patient's arm. "Gonna be all right. Just a little while, and this is all only gonna be one bad dream, that's all... Just gotta hang on."

Even as he grew too tired to keep his eyes from drifting shut, iSmith gave one last, feeble spasm, choking out a whisper from wherever he was slipping into.

"...I don't wanna be alone--!"

The body fell silent.

The computer hummed to itself, glowing brighter as it began sifting through line after line of coding. Norton sighed and checked the clock on the wall...

---

From the glow of the street lamp, shadows flickered and danced along the snow dusting the gray pavement ground. The small, round tag on iSmith's pink collar jangled as he leaped about merrily, trying to catch as many of the snowflakes falling around him as he could snatch from the sky.

"Shall I leave you be with your new playmates, little one?"

iSmith turned to smile at his master, crunching softly through the snow towards him. Two albino bodyguards in flowing white coats followed behind the Merovingian from each side, silently keeping watch of any stray movement in the near-empty plaza they strode across. "Sorry, I-- heh, I guess I lost track of time," iSmith said, with little apology showing in his face. "This is just so cool, though! I've never seen it snow before. Look, look--" He cupped his hands, gathering a small pile of perfectly pointed specks as they fell. "See? I don't melt them, so I can see what every one of them looks like! And they are all different, it's true!"

"I'm glad you've had such a wonderful learning experience," the Merovingian remarked, a bit grateful iSmith hadn't yet noticed the fake vapor programmed to come from their mouths when they talked in such cold weather. His pet might be out here for hours more if he did... "However, it's time for you to come inside. I wouldn't want you to risk catching another virus," he added with a smirk.

"Aww. Okay." iSmith's shoulders slumped, but his grin remained. He made his way back to the nearby entryway of the event hall by skipping, pausing to wait by the door until the other three caught up with him. The Merovingian had to marvel at the change in iSmith's demeanor. His unblemished eagerness had returned, he obeyed his every command with a smile... It was still hard to believe that the overgrown puppy with him now was the same program who'd been shivering in his own tears scarcely a week before.

If anything, iSmith seemed to be more chipper and playful than he ever was the first time around. The Merovingian had made a mental note to try testing out this new, improved loyalty before long, but iSmith seemed obedient enough to prevent any worrisome behavior in the meantime. Why, all it had taken was a simple warning of 'Pets do not give their masters pet names, mon petit,' and iSmith's old habit of calling him "Vinci" seemed to have cleared up at the first offhand mention of the nickname. Perhaps he should try having more coding sessions facing his pet, to see if such a variable might alter things further. This second version might be even more interesting to watch, the Merovingian thought.

On their way indoors, one of the bodyguards turned to iSmith, smirking at him. "You got your collar back! When did you find it?"

iSmith blinked, looking confused at the question. "What do you mean? I just got this..."

The Merovingian cleared his throat. "Indeed he did, just the other day. My pet was unfortunate enough to come down with a terrible virus, one that kept him dormant for many, many months. He recovered only a few days ago." He kept his gaze fixed sternly upon One and Two, even as he asked iSmith, "Isn't that correct?"

"Mm hmm," iSmith chirped back, nodding. His eyes closed as he did so; when he opened them, he’d already missed the Twins' frowns at the 'news.'

"Ah! Good evening, Mister Mero! I was looking for you."

The four of them halted as a sharp-suited human walked up to shake the Merovingian's hand. One and Two shifted closer, but reacted neutrally, sensing no weapons on him.

"I just wanted to come by and say, on behalf of the foundation, thanks again for donating the use of the hall tonight. The place looks..." He clicked his tongue, flashing an ‘A-OK’ signal with one hand. "...ab-sull-oot-ly incredible."

"Of course, of course. No trouble at all, I assure you. Myself, I admire anyone who could foster such a wonderful organization as your own," replied the Merovingian, giving him a polite smile.

The human beamed proudly. "Well, again-- couldn't do a thing without help from the community, and folks like yourself," he said.

"Are the festivities going well, thus far?" the Merovingian asked. iSmith's eyes began to wander around the hallway, not having much practice nor interest in the art of small talk.

"Yes, everything's going fine. The silent auction went off without a hitch, looks like the dance is in full swing right now, just..." The man paused, looking about the hall as well. "Well... I don't know, but I'm kinda getting worried about where my daughter went off to. Haven't happened to see her anywhere, have you? 'Bout so high, red hair, pink outfit," he said, motioning in the air below his shoulder.

The Merovingian shook his head. "I'm afraid not, not tonight. But cheer up-- I'm sure all will be fine. The children nowadays, they are not always as helpless as we sometimes think them to be, yes?"

"That's for sure," the man chuckled. "Yeah, might just be my own Dad-paranoia talking... Well, anyhow, I'll keep looking around the dance floor and leave you be. Hope you and your friends enjoy themselves tonight! I'll see you around."

"Indeed! I'm sure we will. Farewell." He waved to the man, who wandered back to the dance hall some yards away, bumping into one of the brightly colored balloons strung around the doorway as he went. The Merovingian muttered to iSmith and the Twins, "The founder of this evening's main charity. Pitifully dull, even for a human... but he does have his uses."

The four waited there by the stairs for a short while. The only sounds came from the people dancing nearby; now and then, thin stagelight beams crisscrossed onto the floor from the dance hall. iSmith was about to ask why they weren't going there themselves, but stopped, noticing a young lady in a peach-colored dress approaching them.

The puffs of powder pink fabric lining her clothing made iSmith think of an animal he'd once heard of, called a "poodle." Her red hair flowed down in a braid along one side of her head. As she walked, she ran her hand along the tufted end of it nervously, tipping subtle glances to either side of the hall.

The girl stopped before the Merovingian, her green eyes shining. "I got your note," she said quietly, giving him the smug grin of someone who knows a secret. Without a word of command, the Twins calmly walked over to stand within chatting distance of each other, covering the gap of space where their boss and the girl could be easily spotted by passers-by. iSmith merely watched-- he was curious, but not surprised.

"Ah, of course!" The Merovingian reached to lift her gloved hand up, giving the peach-pink satin a kiss. "Vous êtes un se beau rebelle. And what do you think, my dear?"

A blush spread across the freckles on her face; her smile grew shy. "Well, actually... to be honest, I've-- I've never..." She motioned him closer with a tipping finger, whispering the rest to his ear directly.

The Merovingian's grin widened, curling up wolfishly. "Is that so? Well, worry not, ma belle chérie. If you are indeed interested, you will find I can be very... gentle." He leaned to whisper something back to her, something which made her giggle. He stepped back, beckoning to the stairs in a most gentlemanly fashion. "It can be our own little secret, yes? And I know just the place for us to try it. Care to follow me?"

With a silent, knowing nod to One and Two, he took her by one dainty hand and led her upstairs. iSmith and the Twins kept quiet for a few moments before daring to speak, but as soon as their boss was out of range, One piped up first. "Took him just over an hour this time. You, sir, owe me a drink."

Two scowled back at him. "Who could’ve known he'd break tradition for once?" He leaned against the post of the stairway, glancing up at the dimly lit hallway of the second floor. "Figured something was up when Frenchie didn't charge them to use the place... How much you want to bet this one's actually legal age?"

When One shook his head, Two turned to iSmith, only to be laughed at. "Are you kidding? I don't like losing any more than you do!"

"And at a charity ball for 'Save the Children', no less." One smirked. "The bossman always did like his irony."

"So he doesn't let you two follow him up there? What if someone attacks him?" iSmith wondered aloud.

Two paused. His tone became softer for a moment, as if he was teaching a particularly slow child something all over again. "We've got our ways of cutting to the chase if needed, trust us."

"Not having to be near him when he's doing something like he is now is a happy bit of coincidence, in our opinion," muttered One.

One and Two suddenly perked to attention; they looked at each other with an expression somewhere between amusement and muted disgust. iSmith frowned, confused at the joke he was apparently missing out on. "What? What's going on?"

"Bedsprings just started squeaking, down the end of the hall," Two replied, pointing up towards the stairway. "Didn't think there were any bedrooms up there. Must've been planning for this longer than we'd thought."

One nodded to iSmith, a wince creasing around his sunglasses. "Be glad you don't have enhanced hearing. Even when he's trying to be quiet, he tends to be loud..."

"...in all the wrong ways," added Two, sighing. "Speaking of needing a drink..."

"Have to wonder, though," One said, staring at iSmith with curiosity. "Doesn't that bother you, when he does that with all these humans? Just-- from what we've heard, what the two of you do," he added quickly.

iSmith tittered. "My, word about me does get around, doesn't it?" He gave a contented smile towards no one in particular, running a finger along the edge of his collar. "Tell you the truth, I don't mind. Sure, I could be like Her Royal Bitchiness about it and throw a fit, but why bother? He has his fun, and no matter what happens, he always comes back to me in the end."

His finger stopped in place, noticing the strange look the Twins were giving him. "Something on my face...?"

"No. It's nothing," said One, turning his attention to the dancing humans in the distance.

Two listened to the creaking sounds grow faster, trying to ignore the cries beginning to join it. As he joined his brother in mutely watching the crowd, he muttered under his breath.

"Sure likes his irony, all right."


[fin]






-----
mon petit = my little one
mon peu putain = my little whore
Bon-- C’est comment il est = Good-- It is how it is
Monsieur = Mister
merci = thank you
Vous êtes un se beau rebelle = You are one beautiful rebel
ma belle chérie = my beautiful darling