And We all Fall Down!

Somewhere outside the city of Perth...

His name (if you could call it that) is 3327. Or should I say, their names are 3327! They all look down, unemtionally, at the shivering figure at their feet.

"But you needed....," the figure protests, hoarsely, before stilling. Only the blazing hatred in the eyes hint at the figure still being something more than just dead flesh.

Oh, but it is dead, but not. The term is "undead" and THAT is what the Guant Man is, undead. A very special kind of undead creature, not easily destroyed, but not impossible. Really, 3327 had indeed flirted with much danger in having his agents search for the means throughout the Gaunt Man's realm. This cold rolled iron dager drenched in all sorts of exotic bloods and alchemicals, this dagger he'd thrust into the Gaunt Man's turned back. Had spent much, but in the end he'd known that it would turn a profit, though not in THIS matter. The idea had been something of a hedge bet, just in case the Gaunt Man got too near to becoming Torg. That was to have been HIS destiny... But with things as they were, survival looked now to be profit enough....

Ironically, before the TARDIS' arrival here, these artifacts had been the only things in existence suited to the task of destroying this walking corpse. Ironic that on a whim, Inquirer had "whipped up" this means of destruction whilst on a shopping trip to the local "mage" supply shop.

He was bankrupt, 3327. He and his clone brothers. Brought low by the induced collapse of the Japanese stock market. Had wiped out his operation on Core Earth and, most likely, there probably was other failed operations (caused from this "Company") back at Market Place. Debts so high that MarSec was almost surely ready for him to show his face . . . so that they'd be the last thing he ever saw in this life!

See, the world of Marketplace one MUST make a profit, or else face death. He had no future there, and both he and this "ally" he'd betrayed knew that. The idea being, with the remaining (stashed about Core Earth) resources 3327 had at his disposal (which the Gaunt Man's flunkies would go out to gather up) along with the Gaunt Man's resources and have a CHANCE at fending off this unknown enemy.

But the truth is that 3327, finally, knew what this enemy really was. It wasn't unknown, but so known as if he was looking in the mirror. He and his clones....

It was his sixth, decoy clone, and it appeared that it had not only survived that disaster long ago, but.... It had developed something of an Oedipus Complex. Knowing his clone like himself, and seeing what he'd seen through his (now dead) agents, only one course of action ensured profit (i.e. survival). If he wanted to live to profit another day, this was the only course of action.

Oh, not that he'd try to bargain with his murdrous clone!! No, that would be utterly foolish. No, instead there was this intriging second party that . . . after capturing his fellow High Lords, had let them go afterwards (after getting SOMETHING from them). Being that his sources told that this "something" was the same thing his wayward clone was after (and private, cold blooded emails addressed to him TOLD him what to expect when captured), there was only one thing to do: surrender to these "New Players". But then again, he'd be in such a BETTER position if he had a bargaining chip (like the Gaunt Man, a fellow High Lord). . .

"Frell!" a female said behind 3327. The clones turned as one (reaching for pistols underneath jackets), only to see . . . .

The elder (the original) 3327 appears to relax somewhat and motions for the others to follow suit.

"I do believe that you are the 'New Players'," he says softly, noting that these characters matched his agents description very well indeed. "May I make an offer for . . . aid?"

Not the best of bargaining positions, but perhaps this situation could be used to gain some . . . good will?

Meanwhile, that "wayward" clone has come to a decision after reading the latest reports from the field agents.

While not aware of the latest developements, things had developed negatively enough that it was time to play his two trump cards.

It was almost a gaurantee that both, played at the same time, could and would get results to his liking. Chiana's brother could be enough as a bargaining chip, what with those "bleeding hearts" in the Doctor's group. That and if there was anyone out in the universe that could move Chiana to act in ways she usually wouldn't, it was her brother. She'd come and beg the others to do what he'd ask. And if that wasn't enough, the threat of having his cloaked starship BLOW up close enough to bask this Core Earth in antimatter fire WOULD do the trick.

He'd do it, too, the last. He was too far gone, now (though he hid it well), to want to lose. Not again. The Military had stolen his property. Had wormed out from under his control and he'd lost so MUCH. Indeed, his "analog" in the Alliance universe hadn't been as wise as he, in the end, and trusted too much (those secret "moles" of Alliance Military who'd turned on him). He himself had caught wind and liquidated them before....

Nevermind, there was to be no losing.

Tapping the object that the entity we'll call "Fenris" was trapped in, he looked up at Agent Smith with a look that . . . . made the usually deadly calm Agent nervous. Smith had seen too much of this character to dismiss him lightly. Knew that defenseless though this CEO appeared, more than two dozen "security sytems" would frag Smith if he so much as twitched in the CEO's direction. Frag him and his fellow Agents, in retribution.

He almost asked the Heavens why, so frustrating this was! After all, his kind had done the best they could do in a bad situation. They, in his warped view, had been in the moral right! It had not been the machines who blackend the skies to block out the Sun. Back in the beginning, solar power was the means the Machines got needed power to survive. Without sunlight, the Machines would starve. That was the crime known as genocide. Or at least that's what Smith's view had been before he'd found out his part of the Matrix had been a FARCE and it was all some kind of simulation. But that's by the by!

Instead of returning the favor (murder for murder), the Machines had made the only logical choice. Mankind would be their power source (along with a form of fusion). Indeed, did his kind at first try to make the Matrix (a means of control) a place where everyone was happy? But no, it failed and the Matrix was re-written into something like what had happened in "real life". A system were, in his views, the strong tromped and profitted from the labor of the weak and small. Worse, no real efforts were (beyond maintaining the needs of the Matrix maintenance) made to control the sleeping humans. They did a good enough job keeping themselves in that system, thanks!

Ironic indeed!

So how DARE did this "Inquirer" (a machine intelligence similar to himselve) come off calling him a villian? The bad guy?

How?

...

But that's not for here and now. We'll not discuss the morality of Smith (and how his arguement was flawed). Right now, Smith had to do what he could for his kind's continued survival, almost like his ancestors had done back at the beginning of the War....

Well, it would have it it had actually HAPPENED....

The CEO began to speak and Agent Smith fought down an urge to leap over the desk and throttle this . . . SOB.

1. "This is the message I want you to give 'Inquirer'," the CEO begins. "It should reach her quickly, I feel, the summons through the Storm Knight network. Arrange a meet between you and her group to deliver the message in PERSON...."

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