With the game still in progress, it looks like the Lakers so far have played a very reserved and technical game while Orlando have gone for a more brute force and outright scoring attack. Made all the more interesting by the current tie in scores.

Recent news reports suggest that the centre-forward Nguyen Thi Buch Thuy is hoping to score even more for his team than he did last season.

Dashiell Hammett, Cowboy Bebop and jazz.

Discuss.

Since hearing news that the Simulation will be switched off:

May I ask if anyone has a mirror of the Matrix Online Forums or, if not, whether it would be possible to construct such?

Especially with regard to story - writing, telling and role - play; there is just far too much creativity and richness here to let die out with the game.

What if Neo had reacted differently to the revelation that the sum of his life exerienced were put in place, in accordance with him being an inherent anomally in the equation?

---

Neo: KICK YOUR *censored* BUTT!

Architect: Neo, Neo –

Neo: I want you off the *censored* job you *censored*!

Architect: Neo, I'm sorry.  

Neo: No, don't just be sorry, think for one *censored* second. What the *censored* are you DOING ? Are you a professional programme or not?

Architect: Yes I am.

Neo: Do I *censored* walk around the white hallays and rip down –

Architect: Neo, Neo –

Neo: No, shut the *censored* up Architect! Do I want - no! No! Don't shut me up.

Architect: I'm not shutting you up.

Neo: Am I going to walk around the white hallways and Debir Court and rip your *censored* Matrix down, in the middle of a scene? Then why the *censored* are you having Agents walking right through? Ah da da dah, like this in the background. What the *censored* is it with you? What don't you *censored* understand?

Architect: It is an acceptable System procedure

Neo: You got any *censored* idea about, hey, it's *censored* distracting having somebody walking up behind you and then turn into and Agent and start shooting at you in the middle of *censored* trying to save humanity? Give me a *censored* answer! What don't you get about it?

Architect: I was looking at Zion.

Neo: Ohhhhh, goooood for you. And how was it? I hope it was *censored* good, because it's useless now, isn't it?

Architect: Ok.

Neo: *censored*-sake man, you're amateur. Other Neos, you got *censored* something to say to this *censored*?

Other Neos: I didn't see it happen.

Neo: Well, somebody should be *censored* watching and keeping an eye on him.

Other Neos: Fair enough.

Neo: It's the second time that he doesn't give a *censored* about what is going on in the middle of the Simulation, alright? I'm trying to *censored* save humanity here, and I am going "Why the *censored* is an Agent walking in there? What is he doing there?" Do you understand my mind is not on freeing people if you're doing that?

Architect: I absolutely apologize. I'm sorry, I did not mean anything by it.

Neo: Stay off the *censored* Matrix man. For *censored* -sake. Alright, let's go again.

Architect: Let's just take a minute.

Neo: Let's not take a *censored* minute, let's go again. And have YOU *censored* walking in! Can I have Morpheus put this on please.

Architect: Can you have Morpheus in the white hallways?

Neo: You're unbelievable, you're un-*censored*-believable. Number of times your Agents are strolling-a-*censored* around in the background. I've never had an Architect behave like this. Ehhh…you don't *censored* understand what it's like working with redpills, that's what that is.

Architect: No, that's –

Neo: That's what that is man, I'm telling you. I'm not asking, I'm telling you. You wouldn't have done that otherwise.

Architect: No, what it is, is looking at the Matrix and making sure, that you are, ugh –

Neo: I'M GOING TO *censored* KICK YOUR *censored* BUTT IF YOU DON'T SHUT FOR A SECOND! ALRIGHT?

Architect: Neo, Neo. It's cool.

Neo: I'm going to go…Do you want me to *censored* go trash your Simulation? DO YOU WANT ME TO *censored* TRASH YOUR? Then why are you trashing my Zion?

Architect: I'm not trying to trash your Zion.

Neo: You are trashing my Zion!

Architect: Neo, I was only –

Neo: You do it one more *censored* time and I ain't jacking into this Simulation if you're still hired. I'm *censored* serious. You're a nice guy. You're a nice guy, but that don't *censored* cut it when you're *cow-pooping* and *censored* around like this on set.

Architect: Alright, I know, let's, let's —

Neo: Yeah, you might get it. He doesn't *censored* get it.

Other Neos: I got it, I know. I get it. I get it. I know.

Neo: You might. He. Does. Not. Get It.

Architect: We made good adjustments. For real, honestly. I get it. Just walk for five seconds.

Neo: No, I don't need any *censored* walking. He needs to stop walking.

Architect: I get that –

Neo: I ain't the one walking. Let's get Morpheus and put this back on and let's go again. Seriously man, you and me, we're *censored* done professionally. *censored* derriere.

1 x "Hoots the Owl Bookmark".

Bids of $$60, 000, 000, 000 info and upwards in miniumum increments of $$1, 000, 000, 000 only.

Come, seek your true calling as an associate of Le Patron.

A free whistle tip for each newly rectuited Hovercraft.

(Please note: This is a limited time offer, as neither Zion nor Machine mission controllers have this promotion under consideration.)

Come, seek your true calling as an associate of Le Patron.

A free whistle tip for each newly rectuited Hovercraft.

(Please note: This is a limited time offer, as neither Zion nor Machine mission controllers have this promotion under consideration.)

The schematics from the offices illustrated a parallel maze of complex networks, a string of illumintaed dots as security guards on patrol and a particular objective somewhre along the line. One quickly approached. You could almost feel the distinctual heartbeat resonate against the panelled wall. The reverberations dull and fade into the nestly shadow which kept him from view.
"You ok?"
"I'm good." He looks back to the sensor. "Normal patterns resumed."
"Someone might mistake you for some seasoned spy in a video game. Just as well they can't see you."
"Shh, if I start laughing, it'll pick up.
"Sorry."
"S'ok."

Around the corner and into a cubicle, the desk drawer held little more than a note and a photograph. What looked like a little girl perched on a swing set, with a man and lady close by, perhaps an older brother and sister. Not looking quite wrinkled enough to be parents.

"It's..."
"Yeah, I can see through your visual sensor... I didn't think they'd go so far as to..."
"I didn't either." His gaze squinted as he looked upon the photo with a pang of conscience and conscious consideration.  Turning it over, is scribbled in a thin black marker pen "3112"
"Let's see what we can find on this."
"We're on it."

Sliding the drawer closed, photograph in tow, he took a moment to gaze on the roads down below, all quiet but for a black saloon parked out front with two black suited figures emerging, saluting to the interior of the lobby and -- one's gaze shifted upward, the line of sight repelling his presence from the side of the windowed wall.

"..."
"Visual?"
"..."
"X?"
"Negative. Close, though... do we know who they were?"
"I saw the same as you did, from the--"
"Visual display." smiling to himself at the completion of her sentence
"...*she smirks playfully* running through databases now. It may take a little time, however."
"Mhm. I shall proceed until we have more."
"Standing by."

The floor above was for the most part much of the same.
The floor above that, in a similar fashion, too. Aside from the unconscious guard.

"An unconscious guard?! Did you just? You know what'll happen if the Machines find *static* involvement here, right?"
"... Make him fall asleep? And yes, I know. And no, it was of his own accord. Proceeding to basement level."
"It's a shame you know."
"Oh?"
"How the more clandestine path has come to be the road less travelled. It's more fun than you'd think. That, and the uneccessery exposure and casualties. Tsk."
From the closest most strap to his waist in his cargo pants, he pulls from under it, an unassuming (what looks like a silenced pistol), takes brief aim and fires it toward the opposing wall of the elevator shaft. He unscrews the "silencer" from the pistol and detaches from it, a thin piece of black cord, attaching it to a black metal clasp on the same strap.
"We need elevator shut down in, three..."
"Security systems reset in two..."
"One."

In less than the blink of an eye, the descending metal vehicle shudders and the dim maintenance shaft lighting gives out before reaffirming its presence. As both carried on as before, a shadowed frame descended the tube with his preferred method of travel, the black cord lengthening all the while.

"Basement level reached. Nice work so far..."
"Why, thank you." He smiles.
"Update re: the suits. They would appear to be... actually we have received a ping from an officially unused House network. Message, reads... "Ecks"... and the rest of just garbled.
"Run 32 on it, Salera."
"Done. Forwarding now.

Inbox: 1 new message(s)
From: Salera
Subject: FWD: H'ullo. (Retrieved from secure internal socket.)
---

Ecks, I heary'huv come across an old friend. For all h'intents and purposes, they're the type y'might like t'havoid. Unless you like havin' an authorised contract on y'er head, that is.

"Contractors? What in..."
"I'm... I... we're running still running it through the databases, nothing yet."
"They wouldn't be. Not if they're working with--"
Another guard. This one with a duffle overcoat and pinstripe suit with sunglasses. A red and yellow blue of life in among the static blue haze, followed by the two.

"It may well have been for 'less than even a second', however I want to make sure."
"Yes, sir."
At the far end of the maintenance corridor, from the cleaner's room, opened a silvery, rounded door. What looked like an opening to a vault.

"Another message, forwarding now."

The man in the long coat, withdrawing a credit card with a blinking green dot in a visual conversation with the vault door's blinking red.

"Same format?"
"Not this time, the Executive network."
"She has been out of broadcast for..."

Inbox: 1 new message(s)
From: Bouyancy.
Subject: Wait.
---

Wait.

"What in the hell is going on here?"

--- Outline ---

(Earlier this evening, my girl was playing through the Tutorial, the observation of which got me thinking to):

 ... how different things are within the Simulation compared to how they once were. Especially in relation to the newly awakened and how they are expected to fit in to their fantastical new environment; their perspective on what they considered most of their lives to be right and just and correct and familiar, almost completely changed.

A question of particular prevalence which was raised is why is it that there is such an urging on the newly awakened to consider their surroundings, viewpoints and circumstances and thusly come to the conclusion of which course of action and - most lastingly - which allegiance they would like to make as a result.

--- Then ---

Once was, that an Operative new to the Simulation would appear as a kitten opening its eyes for the first time to the world around them. Sleepy, groggy, a little confused and overwhelmed by a host of new sensations and experiences. They would face no doubt the biggest decision of their lives so far in what they would consider real... what of their old lives while still connected to the pods would hold lasting relevance with their new discovery that the consequences of their entire life had been resulting as the course of causes from a computer simulation.

          No doubt, they would hide behind the shield of Zion, which to its credit still stands to this day, protecting the newly awakened from the forces which may seek to iradicate and, at the least, bring harm to them. A barrier between the individual and the outside world (Outside used in the context of the both the traditionally considered "Real" and the Matrix itself) which could be ventured out from behind, when it was considered safe to do so. Also, a safe confine which allows each new recruit to consider their new lifestyle entirely; a contemplation without fear of danger or retalliation.

Many an Operative would continue their service to Zion. Being given now the chance to awaken others. To rest their fellow man, woman and child from the false existance created by the machines. Instantly, an ill will toward the machines has been created for having the gaul to imprison their fellow human in such a cage, however now and again, an Operative would conceed to this point. Perhaps deciding that the Machines had the right idea; that those who wish to remain plugged into the Matrix (those who had made the decision on either an unconscious level or had accepted the choice of the bluepill) had a right to do so, and that the best way to ensure this and to ensure also the continued existance of both the Machines and of Mankind would be to work either with or for the Machines directly.

              They would leave their former safe haven to do so.

Further but few Operative would also decide to work, eventually, for the Merovingian. Whether to further their personal power base, to enjoy a standard, comfort and luxury of living which would be otherwise unafforded to them or that they had come to the conclusion that the Exiles had as much right and priveledge to continued existance as either themeslelves; humans - the Machines, or both.

              They would leave their former safe haven to do so.

--- Now ---

Now, however, such a decision is encouraged, influenced and almost expected from almost immediately after awakening. Perhaps to blame, is the split between traditional Zionist ideaologies and the Council and Zion military and civial commanders. Perhaps, that now, as opposed to during any of the previous wars, (to the best of our knowledge), that there is no immediate threat of death within the Simulation due to the EJP. Perhaps, that now, we can become reliant upon the continued existance of the Simulation aswell as the more or less survival of the majority of bluepills.

          That there is less of an urgency and importance to the majority of affairs conducted within the Simulation.

Further in discussion, can be held the Exiles and Machines themselves.

--- Question ---

However, the main question to which I arrived was why it is that a decision which would essentially define each individual as such - their main organisational allegiance, has become something of a hurried, and sometimes, uninformed choice - depsite many's best efforts to ensure prior information and considered selection.

So yeah, I'm struggling to decide whether this year's leisure suit jacket says:

"My name's Bing Crosby, now let me tell you a story while I sing some winter classics with a cigarello beside the lit fire, and possibly later... a nice relaxing pipe or cigar."

"People know me. I have many leather books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany."

"Welcome to the late show."

a. 50's crooner.

b.60's news anchor.

c. 70's chat show host.

Scheduled for release on XBox and PC this October, with the PS3 port currently on hold, the new Command and Conquer looks to be relatively close to the final stages of testing.

---

"In Red Alert 3, the desperate leadership of a doomed Soviet Union travels back in time to change history and restore the glory of Mother Russia. The time travel mission goes awry, creating an alternate timeline where technology has followed an entirely different evolution, a new superpower has been thrust on to the world stage, and World War III is raging. The Empire of the Rising Sun has risen in the East, making World War III a three-way struggle between the Soviets, the Allies, and the Empire with armies fielding wacky and wonderful weapons and technologies like Tesla coils, heavily armed War Blimps, teleportation, armored bears, intelligent dolphins, floating island fortresses, and transforming tanks.

Red Alert 3 asks the question "What If?" What if every bizarre research project and technology experiment for the last 70 years had actually borne fruit? What if the Philadelphia Experiment, time travel theory, teleportation, invisibility, Tesla technology, and a hundred other intriguing research projects had all paid off and gone mainstream? What if the Soviet Union survived and thrived; what would it look like 10 years in the future? What if the Japanese Empire had never fallen and instead became the ultimate high-tech military superpower? The end result is an imaginative and playful vision of an alternate future filled with possibility."

(© 1999 - 2008 GAME Digital Ltd.)

I'd hope this time around for more of a long term startegy in conflicts which forces the player to focus primarily on base establishment; then allowing for the key use of special units at the key point of an engagement in order to provide a certain outcome or scenario on the battlefield which supports your forces' style of operation, as opposed to the more "death match" style of e.g C&C 3 or Generals, especially.

Also, the premise and setting of the game looks to be particularly engaging, perhaps even on a more immersive level than that of Tiberian Sun. Probably since it evolves from a history with which we are all familiar rather than an entirely imagined and conceptualised future.

Mark spent all of his of his time working, even when he wasn't at work. In a peculiar sort of way, he felt more at home in the tall, shining office block in the Northern part of Tabor. Sitting prominently tall among all the other attempts at grandeur, it was home to the firm to which he was married. Its main interest was stock speculation and arbitrage and so, it was also his.

Guessing at fluctuations in prices between shares, businesses and markets and hoping to profit from being right. Though of course, it was never guessing. Every deal had already been made. Every possibility considered and amended for. It was simply an exercise in appearances, making things look status quo for everyone else. For those who didn't know how the World really worked. His empathy for them became pity, wasting their money on what they were ordered to buy, being who they were instructed to be. A uniform which they wore, undoubtedly because of a fear that if they didn't, they may one day wake up, turn into nothing and fall off the face of the planet.

You pull your seat belt tighter when you're the passenger in a car that's going too fast. It might crash. It might keep you safe. His family's wealth afforded them to learn that you could open the door and get out if you didn't like the ride. From Pillsen, they saw he never went hungry. A somewhat distinguished lineage which could be traced back at least three generations into Mega City's history.

He felt at least fortunate that he at least did what he did because of love. His other marriage being to a fragile yet fierce -- a European girl who had emigrated to the City in her early twenties when her law firm opened its Mega City branch and recruited for associates in order to finance it. She shared with him that for the longest time she had longed to visit it - a dream which she was blessed to be able to fulfil. He had never been particularly religious and neither did she appear to be, though on particularly joyous or grave occasions, she was prone to using such terms. The attention it garnered perhaps suppressing those expressions for the rest of the time. A basic understanding of why you went to Church when someone was born, and - again when someone died made him permissibly theistic. Mark had never seen the appeal in looking any further.

Knowing that each night she would be there, each time as happy and buzzed about seeing him as the last had been more than enough for him to force himself to keep up the work. Still only in his late twenties, he was one of the youngest project managers of the firm, having risen at an astounding rate from a junior assistant. Those nights had become fewer though. Working late most nights in order to avoid confronting the fact that he was no longer the same guy, the same person he once was. What he did had become his very definition. Up until... somewhere, he had been able to remain objective. It had tried time and again to enrapture him. Unsuccessfully but never giving up, it drew him closer. Tightening its grip each time he pulled away. He had to remember what was important.

He wanted to be hungry for something - sick of being fat, sick of being fed.

(To be continued...)

Hoping to obtain one of these for the moment.

(Shall now be able to procure one.)

Still following. *ceonsored*. How could I have come this far without losing them? A scathing glance from the other side of the door frame and the thud of the back of a bent arm was enough to down the first.

Running to the end of the corridor and pulling at the door, which was evidently locked, turning where he stood to confront them, the distinct lack of fear and look of indifferent determination still worn upon his face perhaps more concerning to the pursuers than the matte silver, polymer hilted blade which grew from the blackened leather hand, morphing gradually to a separate entity as it began its departure from the palm. The arm raising itself to chest height. A cruel whisper as it sliced through the air, embedding itself in another arm, though not as painlessly as it had left the first.

Left and right, an avenue of escape. He took both and moved as quickly as would allow. Running for his life.

Through every door, more appeared.

Firing a single round to whichever presented the most immediate threat. To run and gun. Instant unbeing tolled the head shot.

A wry smile moving across their mouth as they heard the dry click of an empty magazine.

Watching each metal cartridge and dart as it left their respective chambers. Examining their trajectories as they navigated the quickest route, each one leaving behind a warped trail.

Their movements became slower. Each heart beat distancing itself further from the next. Terrified of what he knew, was... and had always been, inevitable.

The shapes swirled back into being, a loose connection of dots joining then not as the walls sprung from the floor, crunching through the abyss as becoming more tangible.

Heyas.

Some of us have decided to further the idea of enhancing and expanding upon the current Role Play - specifically within the Merovingian org - by creating a series of short stories. Each one focusing on an aspect of the Merovingian organisation be it the ideology, philosophy or more action oriented.

It is the intent for a number of writers and artists to be able to contribute (eg one installment written by one writer - accompanied by a graphic by someone else, then two different people for the next).

With enough interest, it shall hopefully be able to develop into a longer series of installments.

(If you would be interested, feel free to post a reply here. Alternatively, mail or /t XElite or Sephr1 in - game on the Syntax instance).

Heyas.

Some of us have decided to further the idea of enhancing and expanding upon the current Role Play - specifically within the Merovingian org - by creating a series of short stories. Each one focusing on an aspect of the Merovingian organisation be it the ideology, philosophy or more action oriented.

It is the intent for a number of writers and artists to be able to contribute (eg one installment written by one writer - accompanied by a graphic by someone else, then two different people for the next).

With enough interest, it shall hopefully be able to develop into a longer series of installments.

(If you would be interested, feel free to post a reply here. Alternatively, mail or /t XElite or Sephr1 in - game on the Syntax instance).

Heyas.

Some of us have decided to further the idea of enhancing and expanding upon the current Role Play - specifically within the Merovingian org - by creating a series of short stories. Each one focusing on an aspect of the Merovingian organisation be it the ideology, philosophy or more action oriented.

It is the intent for a number of writers and artists to be able to contribute (eg one installment written by one writer - accompanied by a graphic by someone else, then two different people for the next).

With enough interest, it shall hopefully be able to develop into a longer series of installments.

(If you would be interested, feel free to post a reply here. Alternatively, mail or /t XElite or Sephr1 in - game on the Syntax instance).

Heyas.                                  Here and on DN1.

Some of us have decided to further the idea of enhancing and expanding upon the current Role Play - specifically within the Merovingian org - by creating a series of short stories. Each one focusing on an aspect of the Merovingian organisation be it the ideology, philosophy or more action oriented.

It is the intent for a number of writers and artists to be able to contribute (eg one installment written by one writer - accompanied by a graphic by someone else, then two different people for the next).

With enough interest, it shall hopefully be able to develop into a longer series of installments.

(If you would be interested, feel free to post a reply on this thread.

Alternatively, mail or /t XElite or Sephr1 in - game on the Syntax instance)

--- Pic ---

Sephr1

Pyraci

(Ingus)

(Garutachi)

Tenshi916

Reeverb

Void

Eleutherophobia

--- Writing ---

XElite

Pyraci

Shickle

(Ingus)

(RedRedRayne)

Sieges / Morraeon

(Garutachi)

(Banshae)

(Tenshi916)

Freelancer117

Barloke

Verrity

TranqueThePhilosophe

MindsweepX

Hacon

ChloeAnn

Void

ViralMarauder

LinksLife

Perreguine

(Eleutherophobia)

Villemar

------

"I'll just be a moment" he smiled as he excused himself to the side of the club. Leaning against the barely lit wall, he withdrew his ringing cell phone, flipped it open with one quick gesture.

"We have just now managed to pinpoint the location." it answered as he put it to his ear

"Where...?"

"Updating via GPS in real time. Stand - by."

After pressing a sequence of buttons, the small display on the interior cover had turned from a 3D graphic of a luminous redpill to a small dark blue map, complete with street names, locations of interest and a flashing red dot at its centre which according to the small HUD at the top left corner was moving at an exceptionally high speed.

Tipping his imaginary hat back to her, he moved towards the emergency exit which was lit by a glaring green sign - complete with a picture advising on how best to run incase anyone had forgotten.

Through the narrow corridor smothered with posters and advertisements for bands and artists both new and long forgotten - through the heavy red door - and onto the expansive square of light grey brick that was the car park, he opened the door to a low shaped colourless sports car. In a second, it roared to life - an echo which was considerably enhanced by the confined space, the bright white of the front headlamps reflecting in the wall.

One eye on the GPS device attached to the top of the plastic dashboard - the other on the road, weaving in and out of the other cars on it. Actually... probably caring as much not to drive into any as catching up. He was a redpill and could obtain another means of transport in no time at all; however, they were blue and as such had only one chance at life. A chance which he felt was a shame they did not feel able to take...

Having taken the cut off from the city centre to the freeway, it tore along the wide lanes - shifting from one to the next to cut in and out of the traffic. Pulling up along side the solid blue luxury saloon, it swerved sharply in front of it. Decreasing it's speed... slower and slower - the cans of metal on either side now shooting past - until it came to a stop. The one behind unable to move.

XElite again opened the door, this time getting out - his attention focused entirely on the occupant of the car behind. He could see them wind down the transparent window in order to shout some crude insults for his having blocked the way and, further, reluctancy to move. Though they were almost drowned out by the thumping music of the vehicle from which XElite had just emerged - he still did not take any notice.

As he neared the driver's door, XElite reached for a grip in his holster, producing a matte black polymer - framed .45 pistol with an attached silencer and motioned it towards the open space in the door.

He had seen him get out of the car. He had seen him reaching for something. He had seen the weapon. He had reached for the recently purchased sawn - off shotgun strapped to the underside of his hand - stitched seat. He had been too late.

A spray of bright red flew out - scattering across the entirety of the dim yellow interior of the car. Such a mess...

(Pic by Lorelei Web Design)

The House of Forseti was created during the 13th century in what was then known as the Swiss Confederacy by a group of Exiles and Humans who saw around them nothing but chaos and sought to establish a group which would protect their interests.

Since then, they have continued to work towards three main goals...

- protecting Exhilic rogue programmes in the Matrix.

- the continued stability of the Simulation.

- protecting the right of bluepills to have the true nature of the Matrix explained to them and having the choice between the blue and red pill.

... and although never entering into the service of the Merovingian directly, have had especially close ties to both he and his organisation throughout the ages.

Recently, it was decided that a more visible presence - specifically on the Syntax instance - would be prudent towards furthering these goals...

XElite agreed to take up the position of ensuring the success of this new drive and although the House has its roots firmly in Gothic and Renaissance Europe, he appears to be striving to bring it forward into this new age...

Dear ...... ,

At this stage, it would seem practical to ensure the advancement of a further two objectives (if not on a more permanent basis):

1. To ensure the continued survial of those rogue programmes who reside within the Syntax instance of the Simulation.

2. To promote cross - instance interaction and organisation between Merovingian operatives and associates thereof.

Individuals and crews who would find the success of such to be welcome, if not directly advantageous, are encouraged to contact the House of Forseti at the nearest convenient time.

Sincerely,

     X.

--- Public Warning: ---

TheArchitect whispers>I grow tired vis - a - vis this RP. Ergo, invite me back, kk?

Let it be known hence forth that this fad known as "Role Play" is the bane of the Syntax instance of the Simulation and must be stamped out at all costs!

Please co - ordinate with your nearest OOC liaison and await further instructions on how to eradicate this menace to public safety.

The glare managed to dredge its way through the thick fog, the dense mist. The piercing light from the car's headlamps distorted and twisted to a dull haze. The brighter it became, the faster his heart raced. The clearer the car behind them, the slower time passed.

It drew near and eventually... stopped. The door was opened but still the illumination remained. Removing his sunglasses, the full force of the light making contact with his unprotected eyes, he nearly blinked... nearly blinked. But he didn't.

No wider, no narrower, his eyes looked on.

He had been there only a few moments and already the snow had begun to engulf him. Relentless in its fall; infinite in its calming, the black of the bandana still visible in patches where it had gathered unevenly. He did not appear how she had remembered - or imagined.

The silence was broken by the soft crunch in the snow; each footstep louder than the last.

No voice could be heard but a thousand words could be spoken...

The air completely black, it was unusually warm for what would have been expected at that time of year. The flashing neon signs and dimly lit shop windows acting as beacons to guide him along the path.

Edging down an alleyway, it became even darker. He was greeted at the door by a sliding hinge and a silence as he handed a folded piece of parchment to the damaged grey hand behind it. A chill descended on him as he stepped across the threshold, finding himself again questioning why these creatures enjoyed it so. Also an... odd composure of music. What sounded like early Baroque era strings mixed with a constant thud and an assortment of synthesised - what could only be described as - noises.

His eyes moved slowly across the room, taking in the rustic surroundings. The unusual clothing some of the younger patrons had grown accustomed to was a distraction; red, green, purple, black; mostly black.

An older one rose from where they were seated, bearing two pointed teeth at either side of their wryly smiling mouth as they blocked his path; a flash of amber in the Lupine's eyes and a piercing glare encouraging them to reluctantly take their place at the table.

As he neared the several meters thick metal door at the far end of the room, he could feel a thousand eyes upon him, watching his every move.

Inside the spacious office, decorated with exquisite paintings and ornaments from a time long forgotten, there was a focused grey face hidden behind a computer screen on top of an old oak desk. A tall guard with a tattooed face made his way towards the desk and left on it, the folded piece of parchment which had been given to whoever, or whatever, was attending the door.

"Ah yes." The grey face smiled. The Blood Drinker rose from behind the desk, extending a hand, motioning toward the two curved, yellow leather chairs before him.

"To what, may I ask, do I owe this... most unexpected, of visits?" it asked as the Lupine sat.

"A message. From the Merovingian."

"Ah, I see..."

The vampire turned and focused his attention back on the piece of parchment still on the desk, unfolding it and reading it to its entirety with the utmost concentration. Removing a thick quill from a pot of ink which sat beside the laptop on the desk, he turned the parchment onto its other side and began writing on it a fine calligraphy before rolling it into a cylinder and tying around it, a scarlet ribbon.

"You will see that our benefactor receives my correspondence, hm?" he asked briskly as he handed the tied parchment back to the Lupine.
"Of course" the Lupine replied solemnly.

The ancient creature returned once again to behind the desk, checking the effects of its typing on the larger monitor, stopping every few moments to survey the screen of the smaller laptop.

The Lupine waited patiently as several minutes passed before the patterned face once again entered through the metal door and escorted him from the room.

Once outside however, he could... smell... sense a human close by. One of the awakened. He stopped dead, his eyes darting wildly across the jumping club; frantically trying to identify which of them was not code-born. He followed it to the sidewalk at the end of the alleyway. Too many bluepills. Too many red. He had lost the trail.

He gave out a restrained snarl and lost himself in the shadows.

A spray of bullets flew across the road, several of them spiralling through the glass windows of the parked cars, shattering them to millions of shards which fell instantly. Some in a thin, triangular shape, others comparatively smaller and in more of a rectangular shape. Still they continued to fall, onto the caramel and matte black interiors, onto the hard, concrete sidewalk; shattering further upon impact.

The trigger was pulled again, some of those who had been unfortunate enough not to hide behind the lamp posts, newspaper boxes and telephone booths the first time falling to the hard, concrete sidewalk onto the glass, in much the same way it too had found its final home.

The trigger was pulled a third time. No, someone had tried to pull it but not soon enough. The scope had been given enough time to settle on them, a light crimson firework igniting on the dark green suit jacket, the sparks flying towards the low canopy above - the glossed silver lamp posts in front.

An explosion this time. The colours and sheer size of the explosion eclipsing that of the firework before. Two pairs of square, reflective sunglasses joined the glass and figures on the sidewalk this time. They smashed too. Reflective to ward off influences both mental and physical from out with the wearer? If that was their purpose, they had to find a new one. Odd though, that the wearers changed form when their fall had been interrupted.

One of the last remaining two broke into an unnaturally fast sprint, needing an unusually small amount of time to prepare, their arm outstretch in front with a polished black extension. Stepping off the sidewalk, three precisely aimed shots heralded three new casualties. Nearing the middle of the road - gaining on the assailants who had also broken into a sprint, this time away from rather than towards their attacker, another two bullets had already began their race toward their respective targets - tearing through sound and space as they went. From nowhere (somewhere), a convertible topped sports car sped along the corner, its bonnet hovering over the yellow stripes of the tarmac, following it religiously. As a last request, the figure in, yet another dark green suit, was granted enough time to turn just enough so that they may glimpse their nemesis - one last time.

One left. They motioned a single hand toward a tightly coiled white piece of wire, which ended at their ear. This one opened their mouth - but no words come out. The scope had found a new home. This particular residence was a motionless face, set in stone. Not emotionless though.

The day was done and the Sun began to set to the music of screams and distant sirens.

 Link.

((Originally posted in Syntax; Next Renaissance.))

((I think this version of the background is more focused on what events took place and how XElite saw things rather than on emotions or descriptions... Also, in the style of an overview rather than focusing on any one of the events which took place.))

((Edit as one of the sentences were pasted wrong.))

Almost as soon as he was awakened, XElite was recruited by, and began carrying out operations for, Zion.

Upon promotion to the rank of "Captain" within the Zion military, he was given his own Hovercraft and was sent, on what his "Command - assigned Operator" told him, would be "an especially dangerous mission".

It was to retrieve a "highly sensitive piece of data" form a group of "dangerous Exiles" who had been last sighted hiding in office building around the Uriah area of Richland. As he approached the building, he could see through one of the newly polished windows what appeared to be one of them sitting at a table, reading a newspaper. There was also a computer in the same room which would probably contain the Data Disk he had been ordered to obtain, sitting upon a smooth wooden desk with a black leather chair in front. Another figure came through from the joining room, sat down at the computer and started typing...

XElite took out his cell phone and dialled the number for his ship's Operator...

"Operator" it answered.

"These Exiles don't look like they have anything to do with any... military or... terrorist organisation..." XElite told the operator.

"Retrieving that Data Disk is of the utmost urgency, XElite." replied the Operator.

"They're not even armed... they're innocents... aren't they?... civilians?" he asked.

"The Data they have is vital. The Exile threat -must- be eliminated." said the Operator, reassuringly.

"If that's the case, why do they not have any form of protection against a possible theft in place? I'm guessing they don't even know the importance of the data on their computer.Why wasn't I informed of this before we left the dock?" XElite asked the Operator.

"It was considered unimportant compared to the objective, XElite. Innocent lives are lost in all wars, it's... unfortunate. Besides, they're only Exiles, it's not like they're real." the Operator calmly replied.

"I'm not doing this... it's wrong" he said.

"But...! ... it's for Zion!" exclaimed the Operator.

"... set a course for the Zion docks when I get back aboard." XElite replied.

"I'll be informing my superiors of this, XElite..." the Operator said with an obviously furious tone in his voice.

"You do that." XElite informed the Operator.

That day, he learned of a side to Zion he had never known existed. Shortly afterwards, he left the Zion military, leaving a promising career behind (It was also made quite clear to him -unofficially of course- by Zion Military Command that he would not be welcome within Zion itself).

As an outsider, no longer caught up in the never ending circle of the Matrix, XElite was able to learn more of the other organisations which existed and operated within the Matrix; Zion, Machine, Merovingian, EPN, Cypherite and others less immediately visible. What's more, he was able to learn this without the propaganda and spin the Zion military usually put on all information that was given to its operatives. He came to realise that almost all of these organisations had a valid ideal or point but that they also had a side to them that was less savoury.

He knew of like minded people within and without Zion; Humans, Machines, Exiles... those who had seen this "side"... who had become disillusioned with what each of the organisations had turned into.

Along with some of these individuals, XElite founded an organisation known as the "Green Lizard Tong". Based on the style and theme of a "Triad", most if its concerns were originally in the International District - the district also serving as its base of operations. Although stylised towards an old criminal organisation, it has been reported that in actuality, the society itself was involved in little to no criminal enterprises. Initially created on the basis of a group of individuals banding together for protection... survival... as it grew in size, and knowledge, the Green Lizard Tong became more actively involved in the goings on the Matrix. It exists to this day and although its activities have become more visible to the "public eye", its true organisational structure is still shrouded in secrecy.

XElite, along with the rest of his crew, continue to work with as many individuals and organisations towards common objectives as often as possible...

For example:

with the Machines towards protecting the Matrix.

with the Merovingian towards protecting innocent Exiles.

with Zion towards protecting the right of bluepills to have the true nature of the Matrix explained to them and having the choice between the blue and red pill.

---Personal Log - XElite - File1---

I was thinking back today on how I got here, how we all got here. I'm not sure if I'd be where I am if I hadn't been sent on that mission... if I hadn't left Zion and seen what was happening around me for what it really was.

I think the fact that each of the organisations have this side to them is probably because it exists within each of us... but in my opinion, even if it's there, it's whether we choose to act on it that counts.

---EOF---