Thursday, May 19, 2005

Log – Agent Heyward – Matrix Standard Date 3/28/05:

I attended an . . . interesting meeting during this latest session in the Matrix. The Humans running the ship that I have recently been forced to occupy seem hesitant to allow me to “jack in” to the Matrix and even more recalcitrant about providing me with any information about the events occurring there-in – but I was recently able to gather that a meeting of factions was to occur this evening (as time is measured in the Matrix, of course) at a popular club. Securing a time slot for a session, I was able to enter the Matrix in time to attend this gathering – one which I hoped would provide me with much of the information the crew and my current . . . condition . . . have been keeping from me.

(Another matter of some urgency occurs to me – though apparently reluctant to do so, the crew have been allowing me to jack in, despite my obvious counter-interests. I suspect they do so only so that, as I gather information, they may as well – they undoubtedly take careful note of all my actions in the Matrix and are receiving more benefit from my time there than I am. I must rectify this situation soon, or these Humans, even if they are as “neutral” as they say they are, will learn entirely too much about Machine operations.)

But I digress (which is new and entirely too common – the organic mind seems disturbingly easily distracted from any task at hand). Once in the Matrix, I was able to find the gathering, which was indeed quite large. The club itself was far too crowded for me to make out anything intelligible (even within the Matrix, I find myself capable of few of the abilities I possessed before my . . . transition. I believe many of my more specialized subroutines were lost or corrupted in the process or are simply restricted now by this . . . flesh. I am no longer able to separate information out into manageable, isolated channels – all the sounds in the club came at once, along with the heat and the smells and the press of all those . . . bodies), so I returned outdoors where it seemed that many Humans had similarly withdrawn.

One of these Humans was a female called “Eunoia” by her peers. I have been slowly piecing together information on the various Human factions within the Matrix – until the Agent I now work for, Gray, and the other Machines can be made to accept the veracity of my claims to identity, I believe I shall be forced to work within one of these Human organizations for the network it provides – a necessity now that I no longer have a direct connection to the Matrix and the other Agent programs. The faction this Eunoia heads, one called “No Exit,” has seemed most promising in philosophy – its emphasis on non-disruptive work for the Machines, logic-based ideals, and the concept of many layers of existence . . . appeal to me, I suppose a Human would say, and would, I believe, provide me with the widest range of working freedom of any of the factions I have learned of. I approached Eunoia and the other Humans with these things in mind.

After some brief conversation, Eunoia invited me and several “red pill” Humans to a private meeting in another club some distance away. I made my way there as quickly as possible – the Matrix is jarringly unstable recently – hardlines were down and doors were difficult to open (this concerns me – is it attributable to the recent release and return of so many Humans – the “red pills” – or is it Exile sabotage? In either case, it . . . hurts . . . me that I no longer know the inner workings of the Matrix and can no longer move about it as freely as I used to . . .)

The meeting was small and admirably serious – Humans seem to easily lapse into inanities and pointless socialization, but there was little of that here. The faction’s philosophy seems much as I had perceived it to be – although their willingness to work with the unpredictable elements that follow the Zionist Morpheus is troubling. By the end of the evening, I and two other “red pills” had been offered and accepted the transmission of the faction’s “yellow pill” initiation token. I shall try to keep receipt of this transmission as unremarkable as possible – I do not wish the crew to know anything more of my activities than they already do – although I am sure my operator is aware of my having attended this meeting. I hope the transmission will not be intercepted and kept from me . . .

The most interesting part of this meeting was, however, several of its participants. Partway through the proceedings, I lost some of my control when a Human infiltrator, apparently also working for the Machines, mentioned having direct contact with the Agents. A Human has a higher security clearance then I – it seemed that he had seen and spoken to them directly, whereas I am still only allowed transmissions! The Human – TheFaithless, he called himself – seemed to know things about Machine objectives, initiatives – whereas I know nothing! Nothing.

I felt . . . strange, then. Lost, perhaps Humans would call it. As though some part of my code had simply been erased, had disappeared – an emptiness . . . a fault, a failure. Why will none of the other Machines listen to me? Why will none of them believe me? And why must I now deal with these emotions, which made me weak in front of that crowd of Humans?

No matter. Remembering the event makes the sensation return, and I do not want to encourage that.

But I come to the crux of the matter. One of the individuals at the meeting later began making flippant comments about the Machines and, in the course of doing so, mentioned that he was himself a program! I do not know whether I can truly believe him – but I could see no reason why this . . . “man” . . . this “Veneer” . . . would lie about this matter. A program – a Machine among Humans – is among aliens, among hostiles – they destroy us if we cannot control them; why would he pass himself off as a Machine then, if such were not truly the case? Even I did not reveal myself as a Machine to these people – they kept referring to my “Humanity” and to how new awareness of the Matrix must seem to me (when I am a part of it . . . How can it seem strange to me? . . . yet it often does, now . . .), but I did not correct them. It is more convenient to my purposes if they continue to consider me just another Human “red pill.”

So, I must, I suppose, believe this Veneer to be what he says he is – and he seemed to know what I am, too . . . He made a comment in passing, at least, that made me think he might know . . . but I was hesitant to ask him outright, to confirm my suspicions, in case I was mistaken. If he does know, he may inform the others, which could make my acceptance into the organization difficult. Still, I felt strongly drawn to speak to him at greater length, to determine what he knew; but there was no opportunity. I must learn more about him – if he is a program, is he simply another Exile, working more closely with the Humans than most – or is he . . . embodied, as well? Are there others in my (or similar) situations? I must know.

But I am growing . . . hungry. And tired – I think that is what these sensations are. I disapprove of both – there is a weakness in physical existence to a degree that I had never imagined. Still, I must pay attention to this body, I suppose – to its survival, since mine is now linked to its. And I must be alert tomorrow – I must be ready for the incoming “yellow pill” transmission; and I also intend to request a ship transfer to the vessel of the other No Exit initiates of this evening – IdesofMarch and Hunger, two “red pills” – and I do not know how this ship’s captain will react to my request.

In any case, I hope not to dream tonight. These dreams are black and green – but all of them end with pink and that pod and the burning feeling of lungs trying to find air. This body is not mine – is not me – and I do not care for being reminded of my introduction to it. I do not care for its pain. I do not care.

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