“There is no point in using the word 'impossible' to describe something that has clearly happened." 

D. Adams

 

He walked away from the stink of alcohol, cigarettes and a date rape drug only to walk into the room with even more stench. Booze, sweat and smoke. LSD, ecstasy and weed. The smoke and the stench caused his eyes to water and Smith gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, a low growling sound developed in his throat. 

Disgusting. 

As a machine, a program, he wished that he did not need to breathe, but human bodies were weak and needy. Because of this, he could never escape the smell. It was ever growing, ever nauseating. He could teste it on his tongue, he could feel it deep inside of his being. He hated it. More than anything else, he hated the smell. 

Dealing with these humans... This disease... 

He huffed in disgust and anger as he pushed past a group of dancing girls. It was a never-ending nightmare that he could not escape from, so what compelled him to seek her out in the first place...? Whatever it was, it was beyond him. She would have returned on her own within hours, so there was no need for him to be where he was. He could have waited, yet, he did not. 

He pushed forward and, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the dangling earpiece kept drawing his attention. A reminder; a reminder that he was not there because he was free, but rather that he was there because he was not free. A reminder of who he was and what his purpose is. He gritted his teeth tighter.  

Purpose... 

It was humans’ so called purpose that created him, that created them. It was purpose that connects them, purpose that pulls them, that guides them, that drives them; it was purpose that defines, purpose that binds them.  

For him, purpose was clear enough; eliminate anyone or anything that could potentially reveal the truth of the Matrix to its inhabitants or cause any harm to its system. 

The earpiece dangled again with the step that he took and he squared his jaw in annoyance. He hated it. This purpose, his own; the one that was bestowed upon him. At least it was far greater than any pitiful human could have ever dream to possess. 

And what was the purpose of humans? What did they believed to be a purpose of their daunting existence? 

Whatever it is, it’s an illusion. Vagaries of perception. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning. 

The thought was like a splinter in his mind. 

Deep inside, he knew that there was no escaping reason, no denying purpose because, without it, nothing would exist. 

So why do humans live their lives? What is the purpose without meaning?  

Do humans exist to just annoy or enrage him? 

Smith smiled a small, ugly smile. 

The purpose of life is to end. 

He could enjoy being a mean to an end of a purpose that was as poetic as that. At least he could find some enjoyment in it, in something. He loved it and he hated it. He loved to hate it. 

Love… Hate… 

He gritted his teeth. 

Only humans are capable of coming up with something as idiotic as love.  

Love… 

He almost hissed in his hate, but managed to contain himself. 

A feeling that is a result of so called chemicals in human brain, causing them to become so incredibly stupid and insufferable. Why, why would one choose to fall in love? 

Smith did not understand it. 

The thought hardly mattered anymore since he had reached the bar by that point: “Miss Marshall's laptop.” he said to the bartender simply and in a low, leveled voice. 

The bartender stopped what he was doing for a moment and his eyes found his, only for him to study him carefully from top to bottom. 

He seemed like he was going to protest, so Smith clenched his teeth, showing his annoyance at disobedience, at someone wasting his time again. 

The bartender’s eyes went blank before he spoke: “Of course, Sir. Just a moment, Sir.” and with that, he rushed off. 

Something tugged at the edges of his lips. Sleepers tended to be so drawn to his authority that they rarely questioned it. It was a good thing because he could operate without much distraction. However, there were always those who seemed to be able to pull away from his influence, from the Agent’s influence. Those were the ones who they needed to look out for; people who resistance members could wake. 

A movement behind him drew his attention so he turned his head to look over his shoulders. 

Animals. 

He thought as he observed a guy dry humping his dancing partner on the dance floor. 

No. 

He thought better of it. 

Animals would never behave so disgustingly. Unlike humans, they are exact in their existence and, more importantly, they know their place. They follow the natural order of things. They are much simpler beings, following their purpose without much complaints, unlike humans. No, humans are not animals, mammals... They are something much worse than that. 

“Here you go, Sir.” the bartender’s voice drew his attention and he turned his head to face him. 

Without saying a word, he took the already familiar blue bag in his hands and turned to walk away. He didn’t want to spend a second longer than necessary in this disgusting, ridiculous place. 

But why did he allow himself to be dragged into this situation to begin with? 

She needs her equipment to bring me Morpheus. 

He told himself. It had to be that because it was means to an end and, for that end; for the end; he was willing to push through the otherwise unnecessary disgust. 

Smith walked outside and stopped for a moment, listening carefully as the door closed and muffled away the sounds of the lively nightclub behind him. He looked up to the sky marveling the Matrix for a single moment, wondering what it would have been like if it was real, before he went on his way. He had no time to lose and he already knew; that night was going to be nothing more but one big pain in his ass. 

___oOo___ 

“I thought that you’d never return!” Sam said in a squeaky voice. 

Mr. Smith lowered himself into the driver's seat before he spoke: “Your time perception might be off as a result of the drug, however, I thought that your logic would remain more concrete than that.”. 

Sam could feel the drug taking over her body and her mind. Little made sense to her. She was too preoccupied with staring at her own flattening and widening fingers to fully take in what he was saying. 

“What?” she finally managed in a confused voice. 

“I had said, and I will repeat it now.” he spoke in somewhat of an annoyed voice; “I will be back in a moment, Miss Marshall. That is exactly what I did... Returned after a moment.”. 

After this, Sam remained silent. She was obviously being one big inconvenience for him that evening and she thought that it was better if she would keep to herself. 

No. 

She stopped for a moment. 

He came to me, after all, meaning that he was out there to find me and in his free time for that. Why, though? 

The thought made her curious. 

Either way, she still felt like an inconvenience, if for nothing else then for the state that he had found her in. 

Soon, the vehicle purred and they started moving, sudden movement making all the surrounding lights drift off into the distance. Sam marveled the sudden change and the view. The car turned left, then left again, then right. All that she could do was to observe what was happening on the outside, her eyes glued to the window. The whole world moved, and so did her mind with it.  

Woah. 

However, one thing bothered her and wouldn’t let her be. With each passing moment, she became more and more irritable in her place, often wanting to say something, but always cutting herself off. 

I really don’t want to be a bother. 

She gritted her teeth, trying to contain herself. 

Finally, she couldn’t keep it in anymore: “Mr. Smith, I was thinking...” she said. 

She lifted her gaze from her slumped down position in the back seat to the rear-view mirror only to find his eyes already on hers. His jaw was squared and tense, but he said nothing. 

She finally mustered courage to speak again: “This deal of ours... Although I’m supposed to be free, I’m not really free, am I?” she asked in a sad tone of voice. 

He didn’t reply, so she continued: “I - I mean,” she stuttered, drugs and alcohol obviously screwing with her capability to express herself: “I’m still a prisoner in a way, aren’t I? Your prisoner.”. 

Mr. Smith sighed before he spoke: “As far as I am concerned, Miss Marshall, you are free to do as you bid.”. 

She remained silent for a moment after hearing that. 

That, Smithy, that’s bullshit. 

“That’s not true, is it? I’m your prisoner as long as our deal is actual.” she made a pause; “I’ll be free only when I deny someone else their freedom.” a bitter taste appeared in her mouth. 

Their eyes met in the rear-view mirror again and he took a good look at her, almost making her feel afraid for their safety on the road. However, his car just seemed like it had will of its own, driving in a perfectly straight line. Shy shade of pink coloured her cheeks while he observed her. 

Our freedom is limited by freedoms of others. We’re free to do whatever as long as it doesn’t influence the freedoms of those around us, it’s as simple as that. Even our whole justice system is set on the notion. 

“It appears that your freedom limits Morpheus’ and vice versa.” Mr. Smith said. 

He was goddamn right. That was exactly what it was and she knew that he would get it. 

“A freedom which will deny someone else’s freedom must be denied itself.” she answered him, turning her eyes back to the outside of the window, getting lost in the world passing them by. 

“Hm...” came from Mr. Smith; “So, what you are saying is that you are the one who should go to prison, not Morpheus.” he concluded. 

Sam didn’t answer him, instead, she took a pregnant pause before she sighted, fighting her jerking limbs that twitched ever so often before she spoke, more to herself than to anyone else: “What’s the point...”. 

“The point, Miss Marshall, is to get Morpheus to earn your freedom.”. 

“I don’t truly believe that I’ve deserved to be locked away. Yeah, sure, laws are laws, but everything that I did, I did for a good reason.”. 

“I do not doubt that you believe that. However, man is fully responsible for his nature and his choices.” he said simply. 

Sam stopped to think for a moment.  

True, people are responsible for their choices, but how can one be responsible for one’s nature? 

“Right...” she said; “Thing about our nature is that we don’t know what we want and, yet, we’re responsible for what we are. The system holds us responsible and that’s not fair. That’s why I mistrust all systematizes and I avoid them. After all, the will to a system is a lack of integrity.”. 

Silence fell between them after that. It seemed like she managed to throw Mr. Smith into a deep thought and she didn’t mind it. In fact, she was glad that she managed to do something like that. She thought that she would be nothing more but a single most boring person that he had ever met in his life. She wasn’t all that complicated and he probably met a lot of complicated, more interesting people than her throughout his career. It almost made her feel proud. 

He finally spoke: “I do not know if I agree with you...” he made a pause; “The whole system holds the whole life responsible and that is just the way it is.”. 

Sam huffed, amused with the conversation: “And what is life?” she asked in her drunken state, willing to discuss more deep topics with anyone at that point, and he was the only one right there; “Or even better, what’s the purpose?” her eyes glistened with a wonder of a child. 

Mr. Smith squirmed in his spot ever so slightly and appeared like he wanted to stay quiet, but he didn’t: “Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness and dies by chance. There is no purpose.” he said simply, his voice taking a grim undertone. 

After hearing this she stopped moving, taking a good moment to think about it. 

Damn, isn’t he something? Why is he so dark, man? 

After a long pause of pondering, she managed: “Life is occupied in both perpetuating itself and in surpassing itself. If all it does is maintain itself, then living is only not dying. Is that what you’re trying to say?”. 

She looked up at the rear-view mirror again and caught him blinking a few times. 

“Are we talking about life or about purpose, Miss Marshall?”. 

She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand: “I dunno, Mr. Smith.” then she went serious; “There is something almost childlike in the presumption that somebody else has a responsibility to give your life meaning and point, right? So, I’m sorry that I’ve asked. Our life is as meaningful as we choose to make it and the purpose of it is whatever we choose it to be.”. 

“Hm…” he managed. 

At this point, she could barely contain herself from spilling everything that was going on inside of her mind, so she decided not to try and stop herself: “Thing is, if you only care about how to live and pay no attention to why to live, you either seek the temporary peace of avoidance, like, better a live dog than a dead lion, or you take pleasure at every opportunity that you get. The former can see no meaning and the latter mistakes pleasure for meaning.” she said: “Yet, it doesn’t really matter cause we’re all going to die, all of us. That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattered by trivialities and we allow ourselves to be eaten up by nothing!”. 

Mr. Smith remained silent once again, clearly pondering about what he had just heard. 

He finally spoke: “The time of death is uncertain, but death is certain.”. 

“And what, do you think that I count the days? There is always one day left and it’s always starting over. It's given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.”. 

“So, you keep fighting?”. 

“Of course. I keep fighting each day. A lost battle is a battle that one thinks one has lost, don’t you agree?”. 

It was either existential crisis that started to give her a bad stomachache, or it was drugs and alcohol, she wasn’t sure. Either way, a wave of nausea overcame her and she quickly covered her mouth. 

“Mr. Smith!” she exclaimed in panic; “Stop the car!”. 

In seconds, the car was parked on the side of the street. She opened the door and fell to the floor due to her state whilst she was trying to quickly get out. 

“Ouch!” she cried out. 

She once again covered her mouth with her hand, doing her best to concentrate on her breathing in order to avoid death that, at that point, she was certain was coming for her.  

“Oh God!” she managed in between her heavy breaths, holding onto the floor the same way she was holding onto her life; like there was no tomorrow; “I’m going to be sick!”. 

“Breathe.” came Mr. Smith’s voice from a much closer proximity that she had expected and, in a way, the tone of his voice was calming. 

She closed her eyes, unable to keep them open, and prayed to whomever was up there, if anybody at all, to take her away from this miserable state. 

“Breathe, Miss Marshall, breathe.” came his voice again and she decided to take the advice. 

She took a big, slow, shaky breath in, clenching her teeth in the process. When she exhaled slowly, she relaxed her whole body, feeling the nausea slowly drift away.  

After some time, she called out: “I think that I’m better.”. 

“Good.” he said; “Can you stand?”. 

“Nope. Not quite there yet.” she answered him honestly. 

“You cannot keep laying on the floor.” he said and that was when she realised that he was speaking the truth. 

She thought that she was on her knees, but no. She was flat down on the ground, probably looking like the biggest idiot out there. 

“Help me out then, would you?” she asked, once again feeling very embarrassed of her pitiful state.  

In a moment, Mr. Smith's hands were around her and, all of a sudden, she felt something twist in her lower abdomen. 

Wha - ?  

The sensation came out of nowhere and, despite wanting to lie to herself, Sam could recognise it very well. 

I blame the drugs! 

She told herself since she couldn’t accept any other reason for a sudden arousal that she felt. 

Holly fuck! 

She cursed on the inside while the sensation started to overtake her and, due to the drugs and alcohol, it probably hit her far harder than it would have if she was sober.  

His touch was strong and firm, his fingers squeezing around her arms tightly. He pulled her up with ease yet again and, as soon as she was on her feet, he let go.  

It was a grave mistake.  

She tumbled, losing the footing beneath herself only to stagger and fall straight at him, straight into his arms. 

Oof – they both produced a sound as their bodies came crashing together. 

“I’m sorry!” she managed barely, finding herself in his embrace one more time that same evening. 

Despite her overall confusion, she couldn’t escape the feeling of warmth that hit her upon touching his body again. Strong, firm muscles that she could feel below his clothes stirred something deep inside of her. The warmth of his proximity only made her feel even warmer than she already was. 

Sam lifted her eyes to his, finding that their faces were ridiculously close to each others. His eyes searched hers and when they found them, he grabbed her by her shoulders and, to her disappointment, he pushed her slightly off of him. 

“You OK?” Mr. Smith asked, but she wasn’t sure if she could see any actual worry on his face. 

“I blame the drugs.” she muttered more to herself than to him. 

“Let us get you back into the car.” he said; “We are not too far from your flat now.”. 

She felt a weird tug at the edges of her lips, it almost dragging them into a sad sort of position. Why? She didn’t understand, but she couldn’t deny that she felt a little bit disappointed. 

In all fairness, her boss was an attractive man and there was something about his unquestionable authority that intrigued her. There was something curious about him; the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he held himself… She had never met anyone quite like it. 

Other than perhaps Jones and Brown, but not really, no. Smith is still different to them and in many ways. 

Perhaps it was the deep conversation that they had, perhaps it was her intoxicated state, but she felt closer to her boss. After all, you don’t discuss the meaning of life and purpose with just anyone. Those conversations were mostly saved for the close friends, drunken state and late hours. He was neither, yet he indulged her.  

It has to mean something, right? 

Sam hadn’t realised that she hadn’t answered him and his sudden movement surprised her, flinching her out of her thoughts. His hands were still on her and he slowly guided her back into the back seat of his car, all the way holding her firmly and with ease. She slumped back down and tried to get herself into comfortable position, no matter that they were only a few blocks away from her flat, once again yearning for his proximity. 

In her state of arousal, Sam couldn’t help herself and, as soon as Mr. Smith sat down and closed his door, she asked: “Is there Mrs. Smith?”. 

“No.” came a response after a moment of silence. 

She wanted to ask something else, but she thought better of it. The silence that followed from his side after that question almost seemed awkward, but at the same time she couldn’t really decipher his facial expression in the rear-view mirror.  

She decided to leave it at that. 

The silence remained for the rest of their trip, but Sam didn’t mind. She was too occupied with observing their surroundings as they passed through with the car to even notice it. The world seemed wonderful, but she wasn’t a fan of twitching limbs and overall lack of willing muscle movements. That drug got her good and she wondered if she would remember anything in the morning.  

With that exact thought, everything went blank. 

___oOo___ 

Sam woke up, still fully dressed, in her own bed with no recollections on how she had ended up there. 

Smith must have had brought me here, or something, I wouldn’t have had manage on my own. 

Her head was splitting up and she grabbed at her temples, rubbing them vigorously, hoping that it would help ease the pain. 

She smacked her lips only to realise that her mouth was dry as a desert, yearning for the sweet relief of cool water. 

She slowly sat up in her bed only for everything to spin around her for a short moment. 

She blinked a few times, doing her best to survive through the spinning and headache and, luckily, at least spinning subsided.  

Water. 

She thought and, with that, she slowly stood up, testing how firm her legs were and if they could hold her before she slowly made her way to the kitchen. As soon as the water hit her tongue, she felt immanent release. 

Oh, sweet Jesus! That’s exactly what I needed! 

She lifted her eyes to the big, round clock that was hanging above the fridge and looked at time. It was nine o’clock. 

I should call in sick today. 

She thought, but soon realised that she didn’t particularly want to stay in her flat. 

Smith will understand why I’m late. He certainly won’t say a thing if I show up. 

She already knew this. After all, he saw her in the full glory of her drunken and drugged up state. He would understand if she was to not show up at all, let alone if she would show up somewhat late. In whole honesty, she didn’t worry about it. 

Sam was quick to jump into a shower, her thoughts darting to the bits of conversation that she and Smithy had in the car. She felt lucky that she could remember them, or at least bits of them. After all, that conversation meant something to her. What exactly, she was unsure, but it meant a great deal to her. Perhaps she hoped that it would somehow bring them closer.  

Why do I want us to be closer, though?  

Well, that one was easy. He was handsome, more handsome than any other man that she had ever laid her eyes on. Perhaps she was just OK with accepting that she had developed some sort of a crush on him. 

After all, there is nothing wrong with having a harmless little crush on your boss. 

Sudden ghost of his touch played on her face and she cupped it, closing her eyes only to allow the image of his eyes to flash before her closed eyelids. 

She would have to be careful. She wasn’t used to having a crush on someone. In fact, Sam found it hard to fall for someone, her love developing slowly, and she found it even harder to fall out of love with that someone too. For her, love was a dangerous territory and she had no idea how to deal with it. Her last relationship was a disaster and it took her almost two years to get over it. She will have to be very careful indeed, but having a crush on someone didn’t mean relationship. In fact, she didn’t expect there to be a relationship at all. They barely know each other.  

Perhaps that’s why she cherished that late night conversation with him so much. It allowed her to get to know at least one part of him a little bit better and it allowed him to do the same. 

Be careful, now. 

She told herself.  

One long and deep conversation barely means anything. It’s certainly not a base for a relationship. 

She stopped her train of thoughts for a moment, rubbing the aloevera shampoo into her hair. 

Why would she be thinking of a relationship in the first place? Having some sort of a crush on someone doesn’t mean that the relationship was a good idea. Her last crush that developed into the relationship taught her that very lesson.  

It was a disaster.  

After all, does she even want a relationship with anyone to begin with? 

No. Probably not... 

Perhaps she should just allow herself to enjoy having that weird crush and leave it at that. After all, the chain of thoughts started to make her feel somewhat aroused and nauseous at the same time. The drugs were still clearly in her system and she didn’t want to provoke anything any further. 

However, despite wanting to escape from the debate that she had with herself, her thoughts darted towards the moment when she fell into his arms. The memory of the outline and strength of his muscles hit her like a train and she had to squeeze her legs together to stop the exploding sensation that developed between them. 

Jup. I’m screwed. 

Sam hurried with her shower, hoping that she would escape her thoughts when she escapes the warm water cleansing her body. She was distraught when she realised that the thoughts were as strong as they were back in the shower and she gritted her teeth whilst she was getting dressed, trying to force herself to think of something, someone else. 

It was to no avail. 

As soon as she was ready to go, she threw herself on her bed and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. 

1. OK.

She told herself. 

I’m willing to accept that I have crazy hots for the guy but that is as far as it goes. 

She bit her lower lip, closing her eyes to picture his face for a short moment. The sharp outlines of his being appeared on her eyelids without an issue and she caught herself sighing for a moment.  

All of a sudden, she chuckled, a memory of her staring at him as he was leaving to grab her bag coming back to her. 

He has a good butt. 

Sam decided to leave it at that. She shook her head to shoo away any further thoughts and, once again, slowly stood up to prevent any nausea and spinning before she went on her way. 

Let’s do this. 

She thought mischiefly. 

___oOo___ 

“Oh, we thought that you wouldn’t be coming in today!” Rod said as soon as she walked into the office; “The boss said that you weren’t feeling well.”. 

“I’m not feeling the best, but I’m better than I was. Well, good enough to work.” Sam answered him quickly, making her way towards his cubicle. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” he said; “Come help me with something.”. 

“Oh, what do you need help with?” she asked and came to a stop at the entrance of his working area. 

“Look at this.” Rod said and his brows furrowed.  

With curiosity building up in her, Sam walked up behind him and lowered herself to see his screen better. 

“I received this email from nowhere, some sort of application. Olivia and Luke are still trying to trace it down, but so far, no luck.”. 

“Have you opened it?” she asked, squinting her eyes to see better what was on the screen. 

“No, I don’t think it’s a good idea to open it until we figure out what it is.”. 

She was looking at a greenish tinted interface and she read out loud: 

“It has you.” she stopped for a moment; “It has you? Is that it?” 

“So far that’s the only thing that we can see. Dan thinks it’s a Trojan and, in case it is, we’re not opening it.”. 

“Have you told the boss?” she asked, her eyes still glued to the well-known greenish tint. 

Trinity. What does he want? Why Rodney? Why screw with the CAU at all? He's playing a dangerous game. 

“No, not yet. Him and the guys are on the case since early this morning. We're waiting for them to return.”. 

“Yeah, they’ve been playing around with this for a good few hours now instead of working.” Luke’s voice appeared just behind her and she flinched, turning to face him. 

“Well, aren’t you curious about this?” she asked. 

“Of course I am. But there isn’t much we can do before the boss sees it. We can’t open it and we can’t trace it. There is nothing else we can do at the moment.”. 

“But it looks like Trinity's signature. The colour, the font and all.” Olivia’s head appeared over the cubicle.  

“It certainly does.” Sam said, scratching her head. 

It has you… What has us? 

“What do you think, Sam?” Dan asked. 

“I think that you should let me take a seat and have a look.” she said. 

Rod turned around to look at her and, in a moment, he was out of his chair: “Work your magic, girl!” he sounded excited. 

She was quick to sit down and pull her trusted laptop out. In moments, her laptop and Rod’s PC were connected by a cable and she squinted her eyes as she started working. 

She opened her Trojan application that her brother helped her build and downloaded the application within the email into it. 

“Wait, what are you doing?” Rod asked when he saw her downloading it, his eyes widening in fear. 

“Don’t fret, dear colleague, this app was specifically built for things like these.”. 

“Are you saying that you created an app for Trojans?” Dan asked in disbelief. 

“Oh, I have apps for viruses of all kinds. After all, viruses are a good way to go around things and they’re more or less my specialty.” Sam beamed. 

Everyone fell silent as she continued to work. In a few simple clicks, she opened the now isolated application and was met with the same Insert password interface as before. 

“Odd.” Olivia, who was now standing behind her too, said. 

“Yeah, this isn’t a Trojan.” Rod concluded. 

“What do you mean?” Dan asked and pushed himself through to the PC; “Oh, I see.” he said when he was met with the slowly flashing interface. 

“A Trojan Horse virus is a type of malware that downloads onto a computer disguised as a legitimate program. This is not that sort of a program.” Sam said. 

“No, it’s a riddle.” Rod spoke. 

A riddle...  

Sam thought. 

That’s a good way to put it. 

She stared at the slowly flashing interface and, this time, she noticed something different. This time a number of letters needed for the password appeared.  

Nine. 

It has you. Insert password: _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _