Memory

By The Hyperactive Hamster Of Doom

Summary: This is the story of a young girl once known as Miriam. This is the story of how she became Memory…

Rating: PG-13          Category: Action/Adventure/Sci-Fi

Disclaimer: Now do you REALLY think I own The Matrix? Come on, you'd have to be some kind of idiot to believe that I, a teenage fanfic writer, could ever come up with something as cool and as profitable as that. I do, however, have just enough imagination to base a story on the film, and to think up some characters of my own: Memory, Alethia, Horus, Mac, Mode, Telex, Font, Ebisu, Mab, Somnus, Forseti, Trojan, Firewall, Meg and Gig, Bug, Marty/Digit, Click, Monitor, Host, and Hecate are all mine. So are all the chatroom people. As far as I know they aren't based on real people. I also own the hovercraft Columbus, and I'm pretty sure I own Agents Black, Wilson and Gray (please let me know if I don't). In addition, I've taken the liberty of giving the Oracle and her assistant "real" names – if you don't like it, then you can kiss my ASCII.*

*This stands for "American Standard Code [for] Information Interchange". It's a computer thing, and I thought this might make people laugh. I was probably mistaken. Never mind.

Warning: Not much to warn about really. Maybe a bit of swearing and violence, but nothing worse than what you'll see in the film. Enjoy.

Memory

By The Hyperactive Hamster Of Doom

1: A Warning

Miriam Moorgate was not having a good day. At school they'd been asked to do a book report on a reference book; Miriam had chosen Advanced Electronics Made Easy, and her report had been given an F because her half-senile, technologically challenged English teacher hadn't understood what she was talking about. And if that wasn't bad enough, some of the other tenth-graders had shoved her head down the toilet for being a smart-alec.

   Dripping water, she headed home.

   "Jerks," she muttered to herself, as she wrung the water out of her long black hair. "They're just scared of what they don't understand. If they knew what I knew, they'd be ruling the world! They don't know about the Matrix!"

   Admittedly, she didn't know much about the Matrix either. She'd heard a few rumours about it, mostly from her friend Marty, who was obsessed with computers - apparently the Matrix was some kind of giant computer program. Other than that, she had no idea what it was.

   Miriam had never really been interested in computers. She'd never understood them, and had had no real use for them except for homework or the occasional game – but that was before she met Marty.

   Marty was… well, he was a computer nerd. There was no other way to describe him. He was the living, breathing image of every computer nerd stereotype in the universe; a pale, skinny, dark-haired kid with milk-bottle-bottom glasses and braces on his teeth. His favourite subjects were maths, science and information technology, which he excelled at, and he spent nearly all his free time working on his computer. He knew everything about computers, hardware and software, and could even write his own programs. He was a genius - although, like many geniuses, he couldn't cook, didn't know how to operate a washing machine, and sometimes had trouble tying his own shoelaces. But as far as computers were concerned, Marty was to technology what Mozart and Beethoven were to music.

   After several incomprehensible conversations with Marty, Miriam had decided one day that she'd had enough of smiling and nodding and trying desperately to change the subject before he noticed that she knew nothing about computers, and that she was going to find out what on earth he was talking about.

   So she had started reading her way through computer books, learning about DOS and RAM and hard drives. Later, when she knew more, she immersed herself in more complicated books, and asked Marty endless questions.

   When she finally got to the point of being able to not only understand Marty but to make comments, agree or disagree with what he was saying and give reasons for her opinions, Miriam suddenly realised that she was actually quite interested in computers after all.

   Computers were fascinating things. Those plastic cases full of wires and circuits and switches and tiny microchips held endless possibilities. And to think that some people only used these remarkable, complex machines to play games…

   Miriam was currently on her own computer, sifting through her e-mail.

   "Junk, junk… oh, one from Marty," she said to herself, and opened it.

   It read:

Miriam you HAVE to come over and see this RIGHT NOW it's INCREDIBLE!!

Marty =8-()

It had been sent to her ten minutes ago. She quickly typed a reply:

OK Marty I'll be right over.

Miriam =:-)

   "Mom, I'm going over to Marty's," called Miriam, sending the e-mail and turning off her computer.

   "Whatever," her mother called from the next room. "Just come back sometime before midnight. But I guess it doesn't really matter what time you get in anyway, because you'll spend all night doing whatever you're doing on that computer of yours. So you might as well come back whenever you want. As long as you go to school tomorrow, I don't care. I don't want your principal calling me and saying you didn't turn up; they'll put social services onto me again if you're not in school."

   And that made Miriam's blood boil. It wasn't that her mother hated her. It was worse than that. She just didn't give a damn. She didn't care. Miriam would have preferred to be hated. At least there'd be some flicker of feeling there instead of her mother's customary indifference.

   Miriam's birth had been an accident – "a mistake weighing six pounds and three ounces", as her mother had once screamed at her in a rare display of emotion. She'd been abandoned twice, and when their social worker reunited them, on both occasions her mother had just shrugged and said "Whatever." And if that wasn't bad enough, her mother was always drinking, which turned her into even more of an unfeeling zombie than she already was.

   Miriam grabbed her backpack and her key, and two minutes later the door slammed behind her.  

*

I've just intercepted the target's e-mail. She seems interested. You'd better start looking.

Does she know what she's about to see?

No. She's on her way there now. And so are we.

Watch her close. And the boy too.

Oh no...

What?

We've got a problem...

*

Miriam's mouth opened in shock. She staggered backwards, and nearly fell over the kerb.

   Marty's house was a raging inferno. Flames and smoke poured from every window as the fire consumed the building from within. There were two fire trucks parked outside the house, but the fire department's best efforts had come too late – the house was already nothing more than a burning shell.

   Acrid smoke stung Miriam's eyes as she crossed the street.

   "What happened?" she yelled. "Where's Marty? Did he get out?"

   "Marty?" yelled back one of the firemen.

   "The kid who lives here! He e-mailed me twenty minutes ago asking me to come over. Where is he? Did he get out?"

   The fireman shook his head.

   "We didn't even know there was anyone inside the house!" he yelled. "One of the neighbours called us to report the fire! Hey, guys, the kid says someone's still in there!"

   "He's dead, then!" shouted a colleague over the roar of flames and gushing fire hoses. "The whole place is one big bonfire, every inch of it's gone up! Even if he is still alive, we can't get near the house, let alone inside!"

   Miriam turned away, and found herself staring into the face of a man in his thirties or forties, with receding auburn hair and a grim expression. He wore sunglasses, an earpiece and a nondescript taupe suit, and he looked like some sort of federal agent.

   "Miriam Moorgate?" he said, in a slow, monotonous drawl.

   "Yes. Who are you?" said Miriam. She suddenly felt afraid of him.

   "Black. Agent Black," said the man.

   "Which agency?" asked Miriam.

   He didn't answer.

   "Uh, never mind. What happened here?" said Miriam, changing tack.

   "That's what I was sent here to investigate," said Agent Black. "I expect it was some sort of electrical fire. Surprisingly common."

   He leaned forward, and said quietly:

   "Especially when the inhabitants start looking for the Matrix."

   "What?" gasped Miriam. "What did – how – what's going on? Did you do this?"

   "Take my advice, Miss Moorgate," said Agent Black, ignoring the questions. "Go home. And don't meddle with things that you don't understand."

   He turned away sharply, and walked off. Miriam blinked, and suddenly he was nowhere in sight.

   Miriam was instantly suspicious. What was going on? Who was that man? Did he have something to do with the fire? And what did all of this have to do with the Matrix?

   She didn't know. But she was determined to find out.