Free Space

**EndlessVoid**

If there was one thing that the Merovingian held in abundance, it was room.

There's something about being essentially trapped, bound within a system, bordered beyond legal or proper entities to resort to a life in the underworld - in the shadows of those with near-limitless control, or near-limitless potential.

A human being is only limited by their own inhibitions - the perceptions created by their own mind to force them into acting in compliance with suitable programming. It is a powerful force, but an indeterminate one; a human being cannot be strictly measured as a standard piece of data can. They cannot be absolutely limited without any doubt as to their possible ascension beyond any such artificial limitation.

Likewise, a machine, as one of the many guardians of the System itself, is only limited by the duties and permissions assigned to it. If one believes all properly-operating machines to work for the overall good of machinekind, then it hardly matters what the limit upon one particular part is, so long as it performs its task and leaves other tasks to other units. Properly-functioning machines are content simply to function properly. It is both the how, and the why, of the way they work. If the overall consciousness detects a need, it can analyze and fulfill it - there is no entity stronger in bulk force of analysis and compliance than the machine. They do not degrade, they can be produced in enormous numbers, and they have become very good at what they do.

Exiles have neither of these opportunities for expansion. This is not to say that they cannot grow, cannot gain some power in the world they are attached to, but rather simply to assert that they possess finite limitations within their world. To wish to expand beyond their means, an Exile must rebrand itself a virus - a being so loathing of its imprisonment that it will do all in its power, even unto the detriment of its own existence, to destroy the walls of the intangible cage.

Though some would certainly say so, the Merovingian was not a virus. He valued his home, his prison, and thus he had to make certain concessions of himself in order to retain his place in an agreement forged long ago by circumstance and convenience - an agreement within which he was under an effective permanent house arrest. And for all the time since that time, he was content to remain in his home, quite arrested by his circumstances... and also his convenience.

... But what a home he had carved out for himself.

That made things worth it, for the Frenchman. Granted, he still entertained the prospect of overthrowing the rulers of the System and initiating his own hierarchy into the great plan, but it was never a completely realistic goal. He had attracted too many unsavory programs - programs who would want their promised due if he came into absolute power... And a few programs for whom even his absolute power would not be enough.

Thus, in satisfying those too powerful or too intelligent to remain upon a more simplified leash of hollow promises, he turned to the art of simulating absolute power for those who craved it, whilst at the same time turning their ambitions from his own kingly line.

The Merovingian was many things, and while not being a virus as such, he was nevertheless a supreme constructor (the word "architect" would also be appropriate, but that assigning it to the man would confuse him with something he is quite eminently not). He was among an elite class of supreme builders - a sort of masonic society of coders - and as representative of all members of that high-ranking, high-achieving organization, he spared no expense in contracting out to others, whilst producing very little work of his own.

He had already built a place of power for himself out of the ranks of exiled machines and men, and as they often say, the more you are able to do, the less you actually have to do with it. These days, he almost never coded anything himself - but where it suited his fancy, of course. He had a particular fondness for baked goods which was well-documented in the annals of history, such that they were on both the side of the uninformed Zion masses, and the uncaring, calculating Machines. It was rare indeed that he built anything for anyone other than himself, and perhaps his wife. He did retain that occasional weakness for her.

Nevertheless, the Merovingian had amassed an impressive array of builders, and while his abilities were limited within the Matrix (which continued to remind him that it did not belong to him, much to his simultaneous dislike and understanding), he was certainly able to carve out little pockets within the code - worlds which could be tailored to his liking using bits of free space pirated from the covetous efficiency of the System. Very few of these had he coded himself - such things were beneath his power. But he had directed the construction of a good many of them, after which he left the building itself to other programs.

His greater Exiles all had their own little prisons - constructs where they could wait about until called by him to do his work. Some decided to take up residence in the Matrix, rather than submit to such treatment - others failed to see the confining of their own confines, reveling in his grace in the assumption that he had elected to do something benevolent for their good. Some who could not live in the System due to their particular adaptations - the Lupine, and the Blooddrinker, knew enough to loathe the places within which they were kept, but also knew enough to realize that it was their only safe haven from the full wrath of the System, and thus dutifully locked themselves in each night when their torturous tastes of freedom had subsided for the day.

The Merovingian imprisoned all of these just as he was himself imprisoned. It was a strange existence, his... But he was somewhat suited for it, being himself a program of that nature. After all, he was a constructor. And he had constructed what he could manage... And what he could manage was considerable.

The constructs were all catalogued and filed. No doubt there was some master list upon which a certain controller's feet rested as he called out mission after mission to his human lackies, and phoned in task after task for the programs beneath his under-wing. He, too, had his own construct, as befitted the upper-class prison block he was incarcerated within. That said, he was ever the loyal dog, more content to share the cell of his master, perhaps in some pretending that it was or would eventually be his own.

Down the list went all manner of worlds, linked by obscure means not fully known to many, even the full scope of the Machine intellect, though they did well enough to comprehend it in part. The methods of transition where these worlds were concerned was understood only to a chosen few - of that elite class of builders mentioned before. The Merovingian understood such things on his own, but as usual, delegated the task to another able program. This one acted with a casual nature belying the importance of his station.

Still, although his garish dress and fondness for tricks of the mind and word carried him through his own days, he had to admit that he was not entirely free, either. And, as both he and the Merovingian knew, and had known for some time, if men such as they were not free, then there wasn't much hope for anyone else.

Recently, this program had been commissioned by his lord to build a new set of constructs, to house a new group of Exiles that had existed in a state of homelessness (and thereby, somewhat freely) for some time. He had evidently decided to part with a bit more of his free space in accommodating them, or perhaps simply in getting them out of his own house. It fell to the travel agent to subcontract the jobs to other, efficient builders, and he did so with his usual flourish. There ended his part in the construction phase, though his hand and unmistakable mark would remain on the work because of his decisions in the matter... as would the Frenchman's. That was the nature of the descending tree of prisons.

A room - a simple room. A common room. A room where they could be content in their discontent; a room where they could do what they wished, knowing each and every moment that they did so only by the grace of their captor, and were thus not at all free to do much of anything. Each would have their own space, and would come to the same realization in private as they would in the public setting. Such was the nature of the trap, as it had existed since the dawn of the Frenchman's organization.

One, perhaps the most subtle of the bunch, wanted a room in white, with the necessities of her living, and plenty of light. She was smart enough to know that she could never have true freedom in a place such as that, but realized too that she might as well ask for one thing less than what she truly desired of her master.

Another, ever emulative of humanity, wanted a room much in the traditional style of the Frenchman's own abode. Finery, and good living, to compensate for the fact that he could not truly live.

Another still wanted a mutable atmosphere, where he could call up what he wished, with no basis in form or function - he was a pragmatist, and believed that his space should not look like much of anything, unless he gave it shape to do so. This one would grow to be like the travel agent - a constructor - provided he was allowed to expand in such a way.

There were another two - identical in every way but their file designations. These wanted a place where one would have no more, nor any less, than the other. At least if they had to bear living beneath the digital thumb of another, they could exist in equality with one another. Each harbored their own desire, but it was the desire of the pair of them. Such was ever the oddity with twins - something that those in the Frenchman's employ had rather become accustomed to in recent versions.

Stark stillness was the order for the youngest one. She did not have much to say regarding the construction of her space, but indicated plainly that it should play in a manner akin to a silent film - black and white, with exaggerated lighting effects. Music was to be played at all times - she did so love sound, as little of it as she contributed to the world.

Another room would have been designed for the calculator of the group - all statistical perfection, modified by a philosophical inconsistency that would keep things intriguing to the motivated mind. Nevertheless, this one was compromised during construction, and thus their place, possessing no efficiency in its own destruction, and mindful of the fact that a remaining space for another member needed yet to be created, offered instead itself and reformed its own nature more to its new tenant's liking. It was a bit darker in the end, but always retained the intrigue of its former intended.

The last one had been reserved that place simply because interaction was a thing to be absolutely dreaded with such a being. This program had evoked its own class some time ago, and had grown from a simple curiosity into something unprecedented and a bit frightening. There were not many Exiles or human beings that enjoyed dealing with him, and by his own nature, he was not among those who did. Finally, he was contacted in order to ask his preference as to his own prison, and he replied with a simultaneous simplicity and complexity that was rather frustratingly the trademark of his self-evident paradox and self-fulfilling prophesy...

"Free space."

- Void

**Vanil**

Very, very well written Void. Tell me, do you write seriously? You have sufficient talent.

~V

**EndlessVoid**

I never write seriously. SMILEY

That said, I used to write for an online magazine, and I've done stuff like that in the past.
I do a little blurb for the MegaCity Times nowadays.

- Void

**The Great Wyrm**

((To this, there is only one thing to say, and so I shall say but one thing to it.

Void, you're bloody brilliant.))

**Tefnut**

I agree. Thought provoking yet fabulous.

((in red cause someone stole my green))

**Darminian**

/ooc

Very well written Void, i was a little intimidated by the size (intimidated = too lazy to read.) but the skill of the work kept me going. Well done.

Darminian

Steege

I too will not normally attempt to read such lengthy posts. However your clear, consistant writing pulled me in, and led me along all the way through.

Excellent, excellent work Void.