Massacre in the Matrix

[Dandeao Fidelis]

Okay now...here is my lastest fanfic, which I still have to update, that takes place in the Matrix(you know, those weird Kianu Reeves movies). It has me and some of Rose/Ace's characters, mainly Lelia. Here, I'm going to post all of the chapters if I get bored enough.

Rating:
PG-14 Most likely. In the first few chapters, it's pretty much clean, but in the last several chapters, you get some gory murdering and well, massacre-ing. xD Also, there's some mild language.

That aside, I shall now begin posting. ^^[/font]

[Dandeao Fidelis]

"Hey Lelia, you know, you could come out of there anytime now."

Ace sighed a little, removing the gray bandana he usually wore from his head and running his fingers through his unkempt, tangled and spiked, somewhat short black hair; before returning the fabric back to it's normal place, covering almost all of this hair but a few locks and bangs. He knew that the commander wouldn't respond to his words, considering she had had that cold metal spike in the back of her neck that linked her into the matrix, her eyelids closed behind a pair of worn, dark sunglasses with a slight crack in one lens.

Generally, this was how almost every night was spent. Ace would just sit in a chair near one of the computers (one which he had basically claimed as his own), a drink of some kind in hand, and glance between the screen of the computer he was toying with and the one that indicated whatever Lelia was doing, yawning every few minutes. He never really obtained much rest, a result of the constant stress he had to hide mixed with being 'wired' from over-use of technology. But his body had gotten used to a lack of rest a long, long time ago.

The human set his mug of liquid aside, going to type on the keyboard of his precious hardware, his abnormally violet opts scanning the emerald text floating vertically downward at a fast pace. The glow of the text reflected against his pale face and clothing, a result of the fact that the only lighting in the entire control room currently was the two or three computers still whirring away while the others slept.

He shifted in his seat, reaching a hand down to scratch at a sudden itch on his leg through a pair of overly loose, faded denim slacks; which where currently held on by a piece of rope weaved through a series of tiny holes snipped into the fabric around the waist. The jeans had a few mismatching patches sewn into random places where they had been torn; and a small, cheaply tailored pocket made from a white-like material on the front left that contained a few random items like a pocketknife (which he pretty much never used) and maybe a few tiny parts for quick hardware fixes. As for the rest of his attire, excluding his bandana, there was only a meager pair of shoe-like things on his feet, and a worn, torn, and patched gray short-sleeved shirt. His body was pretty thinly built, as a result of next to no exercise. Also, a small headset with a microphone sat on a table near him.

His mind wandered yet again, as usual. Ace was thinking of the predicament he was in as he constantly did; how just because of him, pretty much everyone in this building was in more danger than necessary. Maybe it would have been better if he had just let the agents kill him, or whatever the hell they wanted him for, just to have saved these people of all of the trouble that stalked them like a lion that had just spotted a baby animal lost without it's parents? The human coughed, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to fling off these thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone. He always felt so helpless and cowardly- too afraid to even go into the bloody matrix where as the others typically went in at least once a day.

"Ace. You hear me? Or did you fall asleep in your chair again?"

Ace flinched, his direction going to the computer he used to keep in contact with whoever was in the matrix. He grabbed the headset the muffled female voice came from, and jammed it onto his head, adjusting the microphone he was supposed to speak in to.

"I keep telling you, I didn't fall asleep.." He mumbled, in a pout-like way. "And yes, I can hear you Lelia. Are you done? Finally?"

A small chuckle came from the earpiece of the headset. "I think I've calmed myself down in here enough to come out." Ace shuddered. "Alright. The nearest exit to you is the phone in the bus stop at the intersection of the streets Willow and Birch. Alright?" "Sounds good to me. I'll be out in a minute. Over and out." "Oka- I mean, over and out."

The teen male removed his headset and replaced it to it's spot on the computer table next to him. He really hated to think what the commander meant by 'calming herself down', bearing in mind how trigger-happy she seemed to be. Some poor person inside of there had probably just gotten their brains blasted out, since Lelia wasn't so reckless as to attempt to kill agents for fun. He regretted it, but honestly, she sometimes scared him. She seemed like the coldest person here, even though she had been the one to convince everyone else to allow him to stay.

"Crazy?" Lelia frowned, reaching out a powerful arm and grasping one of the boy's wrists, tightly, but not really enough to hurt him. "Maybe I am. But it's better than being ignorant." She growled, eyes concealed by sunglasses staring Ace right in the face.

Ace glanced over at the seemingly unconscious female lying on the metal rest- who would be leaving the matrix at any moment- and thought for a moment. Those sunglasses of hers really didn't help her seem less heartless, but then again, maybe that was her intention. Maybe it was just a masquerade to help her feel more in control of things? ….Well, probably not.

Don't get me wrong, now; Ace didn't dislike Lelia in any way- he just sort of feared her sometimes. Generally, he had no clue WHAT to think about her, just not to make her mad, and that for some reason, she was a lot more tolerant of him than everyone else. She probably just pitied him, though….

"These are your only chances to move on. If you choose the blue, everything will go back to as it has been… you'll wake up in the hospital, and just assume I was some sort of crazy dream, or anything else you would wish to believe. But. Those men will not go away, and will come back to do something like this to you again. And neither I, nor anyone else, won't be there to snatch you from them before you die.

However, if you take the red pill… you'll be brought into reality, and able to face everything that you wish you could know. Either that, or are afraid to know. I could tell you all about those men, about why I managed to run along a wall, and everything beyond your purest imagination. Those men won't disappear even still, but, at least with the truth, you'll know you aren't alone.

As I previously stated… all I offer you is the truth, and maybe some friends, some help… only then will you realize who you really are."

Ace sighed, taking a sip of his drink and turning his chair to face Lelia.

…"As I previously stated… all I offer you is the truth, and maybe some friends, some help… only then will you realize who you really are."…

For some reason, that phrase she had said to him so long ago gave him comfort. She had been right, now he felt a lot less alone than he had before. But…he still had no idea why he existed, or why he was who he was.

Before he could contemplate any longer, a groan escaped the commander's lips; her fist clenched, and her eyes apparently opened (he could never tell because of those damn sunglasses). A delicate, yet muscular arm lifted from her side; twisted backward behind the chair, and tore the spiked piece of machinery from the back of it's body's neck; resulting in a small grunt to escape Lelia, before she sat up, rubbed the back of her neck slightly, and looked around. Ace smiled faintly, stretching his arms up behind the back of his neck and leaning against the back of his chair (which was a good deal taller than him, as he only stood about 4'9"). "Hey, welcome back." The teen yawned, and the commander smirked a bit. "Why thank you Ace. It's a good thing I came out so early, because from the looks of it, I would have been stuck inside of the matrix while you slept with your head on the keyboard. Again." The black haired male twitched, growling a little. "Hey! It wasn't my fault, I-…Well, okay, maybe that was my fault. But I said I was sorry, okay?!" He pouted a little.

Lelia stood up, her bare, leathery-bottomed feet pressing against the cold ground as she walked over to the small operator. "Hey, calm down a little. I was only kidding with you. Besides, you're better than Demitri was. He did that almost every time I convinced him to let me in late, if that helps at all." Lelia smiled, nudging Ace with her elbow and turning to walk away. "Anyway…thanks for monitoring me whenever I want into the matrix. It may sound stupid, but going in helps me sleep better." The female stated, her back toward the teen male as she left the room, most likely heading off to catch a good night's sleep.

"It helps you sleep better to beat the hell out of things?" The human called after her, most likely causing a chuckle to escape Lelia as she turned entered the elevator that would lead her to the sleeping chambers.

Ace smiled again, yawning for the hundredth time that day and dropping his arms to his sides. "And I thought I was odd."
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[Dandeao Fidelis]

Lelia groaned a little, rolling over and opening a pair of weary blue eyes; scanning the cold room around her before sitting up.

"Ugh."

Another day- or what could be presumed as a day, it was night outside of this little city for all she knew- seemed to have just slapped her in the face without warning and forced her out of a well needed rest. Generally, it was less considered 'rest' than what others had- a long period of lying in bed wondering of what her duties of commander would ask of her the next day, then an even longer period of turning around restively, finally topped off by the sudden awakening she had just gone through.

The female sat up in her bed, turning and flipping her legs off over the edge, sitting on the mattress like a chair. She yawned a little, lifting a her hands and rubbing her eyes, before dropping them to her side again and pulling herself from the bed, turning, and smoothing out the thin, worn sheets that had become unkempt. After this, she stood up straight- a good height of 5'8 ½"- before trudging tiredly over to the metal table positioned on the opposite side of the room from the bed, and gazing at her own image in the reflective piece of material mounted on the wall above it. A tired, vulnerable looking woman with a graceful pair of blue eyes stared back at her, mimicking her every move.

Lelia sighed, running a few fingers through the long, light-brown bangs and pulling them through a few tangles. Her hair in obvious need of a good brushing, she picked up the small silver comb lying on the table and tore it through the battered tresses that where hers. After spending a decent amount of time doing this- she did not overly pamper her image, nor did she let it go to waste, you see- she braided her hair loosely, knotting it off with a simple strip of black fabric. She set the brush down, left the table, and headed over to a crudely forged chair, over which two sets of identical clothing where draped. She shed her nightclothes, and changed into the darkly schemed garments she always wore.

A simple murky gray colored sleeveless shirt with a good portion of the stomach exposed hung around her torso- the fabric appearing to be double thick; While over this shirt was a crudely made fading black vest of the simplest design- it was overbearingly large and loose, but on the stomach area, just where the other shit stopped, there was a strip of fabric sewn around the edge and to the front, that could be tied to give the vest extra support. Also, a pathetic pocket was sewn on each side of the front- an effortlessly produced square of fabric (actually, it had probably come from the back of the vest, as there was a large rectangle cut in the back edge) sewn on with some cheap thread or wire of some kind. As for her legs, only the very top was covered by a constricting pair of constricting slacks (which where of the same color as her top) that stopped just above the knee of the woman's fit, muscular legs.

The female tied the strip of fabric more tightly than usual, making the entire vest pull in a drastically tight way over her form, before grabbing a long strip of ebony fabric and seizing both ends with separate hands; before wrapping it tightly around her left kneecap(her leg now resting on the seat of the chair), and sealing it with a neat, barely noticeable knot facing away from her other leg. And with three more strips of fabric, she successfully bound her other knee and each of her elbows in this black material, giving the slight effect of safety gear, but without a purpose.

Lelia then lifted a bulky pair of boots from the ground, sliding them onto each of her feet and flipping various metal clasps to ensure that they would stay on. After accomplishing all of this, she left the chair for the table, and looked at the woman in the mirror again; frowning. She placed her hand over the intricate pair of sunglasses- which where possibly one of the only really well-treated items she possessed- that rested on the same smooth surface the brush now did. The commander unfolded the dark object and placed it over those sensitive blue eyes, tucking her bangs behind each ear and under the long poles that held the sunglasses on. It seemed as if, the moment those eyes where covered, so was any weakness that Lelia held. It was true that she had never willingly let any of the other humans in reality see behind that mask, almost as if she was afraid of something.

The only other unused item that remained on the table, was the trusty black belt she always carried with her- a belt that simply held a pocket of ammunition and a single holster which carried a powerful pistol, with unique etchings that the female very well could have done herself; the most noticeable of which being some odd numbers in roman numerals on the barrel, which seemed to spell out a date of some kind. Lelia never went anywhere without this gun, and it was almost always loaded. Truthfully, it probably scared all of the other crew members...

Not caring to remain in her room any longer, the twenty two year old female strode over to the thick iron door that sealed her room- took the tiny key to it from the doorknob and swung the gateway open, turning and locking the door with the key soon after, and the placing the small silver object in her left vest pocket. Her expression nearly blank, she strolled down the long corridor of bedchambers and toward the elevator at the end.

"Well, it sounds like the commander's up." A male voice muttered jokingly, continuing on to say "It's a wonder that Ace sleeps through all the noise of her slamming that big door of hers." "I 'ill 'on't 'ee why she 'eeded the door 'ta be made'a 'eel." The voice that replied was incredibly difficult to understand, seeming to have a bothersome accent that one would hear in the southern United States(that was, if the southern United States hadn't been destroyed ages ago). The voices where coming from a long iron bench-table, complete with chairs attached to it and all- the voice-bearers obviously sitting on these little benches, almost all of them with a food of some kind.

The one who had spoken first appeared to be somewhere in the early twenties-- with long black hair pulled into a mid-length, tight-knit braid that fell apart everywhere and sent straight black tresses falling over his shoulders, and a pair of deep brown eyes that where currently staring into a cup of foul scented liquid of some sort. His attire was a loose black net-like shirt, a pair of cotton pants going a tad past his knees; topped off by a necklace that would remind one of that stereotypical 'goth' attire found in the matrix so long ago; a silver cross on a black piece of smooth, silk-like rope. Staring at the darkened reflection of himself in the drink, he sighed and took a swig of it, then swallowed(obviously, as it someone would keep that stuff in their mouth long enough to get used to the awkward taste).

As for the second voice- the southern one, if you have forgotten by now- it belonged to a young boy-- why, no older than the age of sixteen by the look of him- who's attire was almost painful to look at. But it's taste was outweighed by comfort, at least- It appeared to be a patchwork sort of short-sleeved shirt; the patches made of scraps of white, cream and brown colors, not to mention, bits of burlap- all tightly sewed together into a rather distasteful fashion statement (as previously mentioned), also having a V neck that showed a small portion of the young lad's partially fit chest. A small strip of leather was made into a sort of choker around his neck, with a small horseshoe shaped piece of metal attached to it. As for his pants, he wore a large pair of tan shorts that just about seemed like a bloody tent for each leg, and went down until a few inches above the ankle. These where held on by a rope weaved through small holes in the waist, which was tied in a bulky, but firm knot at the front. His eyes where rather queer, considering the left was green, the other brown. This boy, seated with his back to the table and his legs hanging off of the edge of the seat and into the walkway of the floor, stared at the ceiling-- bored, and making quite a show of it as well, eager for an event of some kind. He grumbled, blew upward on his bangs with some lip shifting, and then ran his fingers through his incredibly spiked (with water most likely) dirty-blonde hair, which was only about an inch or so taller than his scalp, if it wasn't for the two long tufts of five-inch long hair that poked downward before his ears, and of course his bangs.

"Dwaine...you really could be less irritating with your boredom…if you must groan and sigh all day, why not just go something to--" A third voice came from the north end of the room, grunting slightly every few minutes, or stopping for breath. "--entertain yourself with?" The patchwork boy lifted his head from it's place turned practically upside-down tipped behind his shoulders and glared at a muscular, tall red-headed figure holding a pair of heavy looking pipes in the style of barbells and making punching, kicking and dodging movements. "'Emitri...'ou could 'real be less irr-ah-tating with your pointless trainin' an' stop 'othering us with your 'untin'!" 'Dwaine' attempted a comeback. He failed miserably. The red haired male with the pipe-bells smirked slightly, sending a deadly blow at that evil, non-existant enemy made out of air. Those things where deadly, needed to be taken care of as fast as possible...

His clothing was relatively simple as well- a thin, stained short-sleeved shirt that was the odd white-mixed-with-brown tan tone of color, and a simple pair of baggy denim-like slacks. He had a few trinkets fastened around his wrists, and on his shirt, it seemed someone had painted a couple of Japanese characters on the left hand joint between the shoulder and torso. He was a good 5'9", Around the age of twenty five- With straight, well-combed red hair that was in a style close to a bowl-cut, but much, much more attractive and well groomed. A gentle pair of green eyes glanced seriously before him through a pair of bronze-rimmed square glasses that rested quaintly on his nose, the nosepiece appearing to have been repaired by a piece of tape. He was muscular, but not overly so, but more than some of the others so far.

The black-haired male with the drink glanced at the pipe-bell man as well, resting his elbow on the table, then propping his chin on his fist. He yawned, looking over at the serious, overwhelmingly muscular and tall figure leaning against a corner near the man with the pipe bar bells. This figure, an ever six feet tall, had his arms crossed, and a straight, almost menacing look on his face. Cold gray eyes watched the red-head lifting weights, and a single scarily pumped arm lifted momentarily to scratch the top of a white-covered head. It appeared this male had bleached his hair to a haunting skull white somehow, with went well with his sharp, angular face. His attire was a simple sleeved light gray shirt-- the sleeves had been torn off by hand it appeared-- and a pair of dank, murky gray slacks that touched the ground, making the fact of if he wore shoes or not un-apparent. Wrapped around his fist, there was some thin material of the same hue as his shirt, and on the back of his shirt- right between the shoulder blades- where some more Japanese symbols painted. For some reason, he and the red-head where the only ones with Japanese text on their shirts. He cracked his knuckles; before letting his arms interlock with each other once more and rest on his chest.



"That reminds me, Demitri," A youthful female voiced piped up from a random position of the table-- or well, a random position on the table, considering she was sitting where a plate of food would normally be, and swinging her sandal-covered feet back and forth off the edge where she should have been sitting. If she had stood, she most likely would have been a good 5'6"; her age seeming around nineteen. Her high-pitched voice continued- "You've been really pushing yourself lately, and in real life, too. Why do you feel like you need more of a workout than just being in the matrix like the rest of us?" She adjusted one of the shoulder straps to her overly snug, barely-covering peach-tan toned top that kept slipping, a drawn-on tattoo of some sort showing on her stomach that wasn't covered by her incredibly stained shirt at all; and it became apparent she considered covering clothes a liability, especially when looking at her short denim-like Capri-style slacks. Short blonde hair fell loose and neat around her head as blue eyes stared at the pipe-bell man. It seemed he was probably accustomed to being stared at, by now.

The pipe-bell man, Demitri, grunted slightly, not even bothering to glance at anyone speaking or looking at him. "I thought it would be obvious by now, Rockabell…" He trailed off. "Maaya's pregnant. She'll be having my child soon. I have to be strong so that I can protect her and the baby no matter what." Rockabell shrugged. "That's true, but really…you have Mr. 'I'm so menacing I'll rip your face off' over there," She glanced at the white-haired male in the corner, seeming afraid that he would leap at her for that comment, though all she got was a hateful glare that made her shiver. "He's practically your bodyguard-- hell, he's even stronger than the commander. You should just let him do it." "I can't rely on Robert--" The red head stopped his sentence, the white haired male opening his mouth to stop him- "I mean, 'Fayng'," The white haired male went back into his motionless, relaxed position. "To be here all the time. He can't do everything. I need to be able to protect those I love without the help of others if the time comes."

Before the blonde female could respond, the figure of Lelia appeared in the doorway to the hall; then walked toward the table in a somewhat weary fashion.
"Well….I see everyone is up nice and early…" She yawned. "…Except for Ace. Now where exactly would he be this morning?" The black haired male with the drink smiled slightly. "He fell asleep at his precious computer. Again." Lelia chuckled, heading over and taking a seat a few feet from Kurone. Everyone seemed to sit rather spread out here. "At this rate, we'll have to take his bed from his room and fit it near the computer somehow." She stated, really only partially joking. Rockabell sighed a little, flopping over and lying her back on the table; arms above her head, before sighing. "I bet he has a sore neck all of the time. But at least it's not from having to be in the matrix at least once a day to shoot things like the commander." Lelia twitched. She got up from her seat, even having just sat down, and turned to leave the room. Rockabell looked up, surprised. "Commander, calm down! I was only joking-" The commander turned again, smirking. "Ah, don't worry. That's not it. I just figured I should wake up 'sleeping beauty' for some breakfast before he starves." Kurone, having been taking a sip of his drink, coughed and ended up spitting into the cup. "Hey...just because it's been years since I said that, doesn't mean you can steal my joke, Lelia..." The brown-haired female chuckled, exiting the room.




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