Fic: 'You're Not Her, Even If You Look Like Her' (Matrix/Animorphs, PG13)
Title: You're Not Her, Even If You Look Like Her
Author: musicforwolves
Prompt: Mouse walks into a bar and meets... Visser One!
Fandoms: The Matrix, Animorphs (book series)
Word Count: 1500
Rating/Warnings: PG13, contains violence, character death.
Notes: Alt. universe.
One of these days, Mouse reasoned, as he looked around the crowded second-floor bar through the thick haze of smoke (he wasn't sure why it was so smoky in here, anyway), he was going to bump into her again. When they asked him where he got the idea for the Woman in Red from, he always said that he'd created her in his dreams, out of pieces of fantasy belonging to both himself and others. This wasn't strictly true. She belonged to the world of fantasies, but she was very real. She had walked past him, one afternoon in what he'd once thought was London, and she had dragged his eyes to her, moved into his head, and stayed there ever since, tempting him with those eyes; those legs. And that dress. That rich, vivid red dress that she wore every time he thought of her. He'd tried to imagine her in a business suit, or one of his T-shirts, or even in a blue dress. It never worked. She was always the Woman in Red.
He was in Boston at the moment, so it was unlikely that she'd turn up here. Mouse could hope, though. Trinity stood near the door, keeping an eye open. They had encountered something unusual in the coding of the Matrix, something that they couldn't quite explain. It was as though a few people were under a very specific delusion, that they were being controlled by an alien parasite. The scans the crew had done on these people couldn't determine anything. Maybe they did have alien slugs living in their heads. Once upon a time, Mouse would have declared something like that insane, but, he reasoned, if you'd told him five years ago that he'd be living on a hovercraft because reality was an illusion, he'd have laughed and told you to fuck off. So if people believed it, it had to be at least possible, to be thought about carefully before you cast it aside. Mouse wandered down towards an empty spot at the bar, glancing at every face he passed. Somewhere, there was someone he was waiting to talk to.
"What can I get you, pal?" the bartender looked him over quickly, and Mouse couldn't decide if he was this 'Visser One' character, or coming onto him, or just asking a question. Distracted, it took him a few seconds to scrape his thoughts together, and by that point the bartender was looking impatient. Mouse decided the third option was probably right.
"Uh..." Go with something simple. "Whiskey on the rocks."
The bartender handed him a tumbler, and Mouse enjoyed the first slug, that sweet, slightly acrid taste of the spirit as it rolled down his throat. He put the glass down and smiled. When he turned, she was sitting next to him. Gorgeous, probably at least fifteen years older than he was, but the way she looked at him made him think she hadn't lost any of her youth. Latino, long dark wavy hair...
...and in the most stunning red dress he'd seen for the second time.
"Are you here with anyone?" she asked, and her tone was so bright and inquisitive that Mouse immediately felt guilty that he was thinking of a girl who was mostly fictional, and who only ever spoke when she was particularly enthralled.
"I'm waiting for someone," Mouse said, his voice coming out a good half-octave higher than he would have liked.
She leaned in close, and Mouse blinked slowly as he caught the scent of the perfume she was wearing. It threw him, slightly: it had been a long time since he was this close to a woman, a long time since he'd been around anyone wearing perfume, a long time since he'd seen this dress. "Someone you met on the Internet?"
"In a way," he said. "He's called Visser."
"You mean she's called Visser," the woman said, and straightened up, looking at him with amusement as Mouse stuttered with astonishment. "Come on, it's too loud in here." She stood up and weaved through the bar (exactly the way Morpheus moved through a busy street, Mouse thought, and pushed the thought out of his mind as he realised how in control both Morpheus and Visser One were), and Mouse followed. Trinity had started watching them from across the room, and Mouse nodded to her as he went: he was doing this of his own accord, not being taken hostage. She nodded back and eased.
The air outside was cool and sharp, knocking Mouse back to his senses momentarily. She was leaning against the balcony railing, lighting a cigarette and looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "Do you smoke?" she finally asked.
Mouse shook his head. "Let's... let's cut to the chase," he said. "We've found out a few things about you. About what you think has happened to you. We need to know what's going on."
Visser One had stopped smoking and was now staring at him, the cigarette burning down, red-hot between her fingers. "About what I think has happened to me?"
"These 'Yeerks'," Mouse said, leaning against the railing next to her, "are they... real?"
She regarded him coolly. "Yes," she said.
"Are they actually real, or only in here?" he asked.
"What do you mean, 'real in here'?" Visser One responded, blowing a plume of smoke into the night sky. "Is there anywhere else they shouldn't be real?"
Mouse stepped forward and raised himself to his full not-very-impressive height. "Listen," he whispered, even though they were the only ones on the balcony, "if they're real, you need to prove it to me. If they're real, it could interfere with our goals. If not, then I can let you guys keep going with whatever you're aiming for. World domination or..." Her stare had remained steady, and his finally faltered. "...or whatever."
"Listen, honey," Visser One said, moving close to him, her chin by his shoulder, her voice hovering right next to his ear, "you obviously think you've got some important business to do, but that doesn't matter. We will beat you. And when you're weak, and helpless, and crying like a little boy, we will take you. We will make you one of us." Her perfume made Mouse's head swim, and he found himself almost nodding in agreement with what she said. He hated himself for it.
She turned to look at the city, glowing underneath the black sky. "You think all of this is fake; that there's something more here than meets the eye. You may be right." She turned to him. "But you might only be right about the fact there's something more. You might be wrong about what it is." Mouse shifted nervously. Here she was, just like the Woman in Red: something not quite real, something that made him ask for a second opinion. "If you're wrong, and if we're right," she continued, "then what do you gain by going home tonight?"
Mouse's brain struggled against itself. She kept changing her mind, keeping him off balance. She was going to sleep with him, she was going to kill him, she was going to love him, she was going to torment him. And he kept hanging on her words, like it was going to be a joke and she was going to take him back to her place. He felt like her pet.
"Well?" Visser One asked, lighting another cigarette.
If the Yeerks didn't exist, then she was delusional. He could leave her alone, and nobody would believe her when she spoke about a man she met in a bar who ran off to the real world. If they existed, then she was a threat. He would follow her. She would strip him and own him and break him and eventually, when he was a useless shell, kill him. The perfume, the way she looked, the dress, all for show. She wasn't his Woman in Red, just someone in a dress. He'd just have to make a decision about her, either innocent as a saint or guilty as midnight.
"I want to come back with you..." Mouse said, and watched her face light up, but with pleasure or malice, he couldn't tell. She opened her mouth to speak, and then the look on her face turned to shock as he pulled the trigger once. Twice.
"You said you wanted to..." she spat.
"I thought you were someone else," he said.
After she died, he sat there for a while, waiting for the parasite to appear, but nothing happened. Finally, he walked back through the bar and out into the night. Trinity followed him, but he looked too shaken for her to ask questions. Mouse just thought about that look on her face. For a moment, he had thought he saw flames in her eyes, but it was just the reflection of the Boston streetlamps.
Author: musicforwolves
Prompt: Mouse walks into a bar and meets... Visser One!
Fandoms: The Matrix, Animorphs (book series)
Word Count: 1500
Rating/Warnings: PG13, contains violence, character death.
Notes: Alt. universe.
One of these days, Mouse reasoned, as he looked around the crowded second-floor bar through the thick haze of smoke (he wasn't sure why it was so smoky in here, anyway), he was going to bump into her again. When they asked him where he got the idea for the Woman in Red from, he always said that he'd created her in his dreams, out of pieces of fantasy belonging to both himself and others. This wasn't strictly true. She belonged to the world of fantasies, but she was very real. She had walked past him, one afternoon in what he'd once thought was London, and she had dragged his eyes to her, moved into his head, and stayed there ever since, tempting him with those eyes; those legs. And that dress. That rich, vivid red dress that she wore every time he thought of her. He'd tried to imagine her in a business suit, or one of his T-shirts, or even in a blue dress. It never worked. She was always the Woman in Red.
He was in Boston at the moment, so it was unlikely that she'd turn up here. Mouse could hope, though. Trinity stood near the door, keeping an eye open. They had encountered something unusual in the coding of the Matrix, something that they couldn't quite explain. It was as though a few people were under a very specific delusion, that they were being controlled by an alien parasite. The scans the crew had done on these people couldn't determine anything. Maybe they did have alien slugs living in their heads. Once upon a time, Mouse would have declared something like that insane, but, he reasoned, if you'd told him five years ago that he'd be living on a hovercraft because reality was an illusion, he'd have laughed and told you to fuck off. So if people believed it, it had to be at least possible, to be thought about carefully before you cast it aside. Mouse wandered down towards an empty spot at the bar, glancing at every face he passed. Somewhere, there was someone he was waiting to talk to.
"What can I get you, pal?" the bartender looked him over quickly, and Mouse couldn't decide if he was this 'Visser One' character, or coming onto him, or just asking a question. Distracted, it took him a few seconds to scrape his thoughts together, and by that point the bartender was looking impatient. Mouse decided the third option was probably right.
"Uh..." Go with something simple. "Whiskey on the rocks."
The bartender handed him a tumbler, and Mouse enjoyed the first slug, that sweet, slightly acrid taste of the spirit as it rolled down his throat. He put the glass down and smiled. When he turned, she was sitting next to him. Gorgeous, probably at least fifteen years older than he was, but the way she looked at him made him think she hadn't lost any of her youth. Latino, long dark wavy hair...
...and in the most stunning red dress he'd seen for the second time.
"Are you here with anyone?" she asked, and her tone was so bright and inquisitive that Mouse immediately felt guilty that he was thinking of a girl who was mostly fictional, and who only ever spoke when she was particularly enthralled.
"I'm waiting for someone," Mouse said, his voice coming out a good half-octave higher than he would have liked.
She leaned in close, and Mouse blinked slowly as he caught the scent of the perfume she was wearing. It threw him, slightly: it had been a long time since he was this close to a woman, a long time since he'd been around anyone wearing perfume, a long time since he'd seen this dress. "Someone you met on the Internet?"
"In a way," he said. "He's called Visser."
"You mean she's called Visser," the woman said, and straightened up, looking at him with amusement as Mouse stuttered with astonishment. "Come on, it's too loud in here." She stood up and weaved through the bar (exactly the way Morpheus moved through a busy street, Mouse thought, and pushed the thought out of his mind as he realised how in control both Morpheus and Visser One were), and Mouse followed. Trinity had started watching them from across the room, and Mouse nodded to her as he went: he was doing this of his own accord, not being taken hostage. She nodded back and eased.
The air outside was cool and sharp, knocking Mouse back to his senses momentarily. She was leaning against the balcony railing, lighting a cigarette and looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "Do you smoke?" she finally asked.
Mouse shook his head. "Let's... let's cut to the chase," he said. "We've found out a few things about you. About what you think has happened to you. We need to know what's going on."
Visser One had stopped smoking and was now staring at him, the cigarette burning down, red-hot between her fingers. "About what I think has happened to me?"
"These 'Yeerks'," Mouse said, leaning against the railing next to her, "are they... real?"
She regarded him coolly. "Yes," she said.
"Are they actually real, or only in here?" he asked.
"What do you mean, 'real in here'?" Visser One responded, blowing a plume of smoke into the night sky. "Is there anywhere else they shouldn't be real?"
Mouse stepped forward and raised himself to his full not-very-impressive height. "Listen," he whispered, even though they were the only ones on the balcony, "if they're real, you need to prove it to me. If they're real, it could interfere with our goals. If not, then I can let you guys keep going with whatever you're aiming for. World domination or..." Her stare had remained steady, and his finally faltered. "...or whatever."
"Listen, honey," Visser One said, moving close to him, her chin by his shoulder, her voice hovering right next to his ear, "you obviously think you've got some important business to do, but that doesn't matter. We will beat you. And when you're weak, and helpless, and crying like a little boy, we will take you. We will make you one of us." Her perfume made Mouse's head swim, and he found himself almost nodding in agreement with what she said. He hated himself for it.
She turned to look at the city, glowing underneath the black sky. "You think all of this is fake; that there's something more here than meets the eye. You may be right." She turned to him. "But you might only be right about the fact there's something more. You might be wrong about what it is." Mouse shifted nervously. Here she was, just like the Woman in Red: something not quite real, something that made him ask for a second opinion. "If you're wrong, and if we're right," she continued, "then what do you gain by going home tonight?"
Mouse's brain struggled against itself. She kept changing her mind, keeping him off balance. She was going to sleep with him, she was going to kill him, she was going to love him, she was going to torment him. And he kept hanging on her words, like it was going to be a joke and she was going to take him back to her place. He felt like her pet.
"Well?" Visser One asked, lighting another cigarette.
If the Yeerks didn't exist, then she was delusional. He could leave her alone, and nobody would believe her when she spoke about a man she met in a bar who ran off to the real world. If they existed, then she was a threat. He would follow her. She would strip him and own him and break him and eventually, when he was a useless shell, kill him. The perfume, the way she looked, the dress, all for show. She wasn't his Woman in Red, just someone in a dress. He'd just have to make a decision about her, either innocent as a saint or guilty as midnight.
"I want to come back with you..." Mouse said, and watched her face light up, but with pleasure or malice, he couldn't tell. She opened her mouth to speak, and then the look on her face turned to shock as he pulled the trigger once. Twice.
"You said you wanted to..." she spat.
"I thought you were someone else," he said.
After she died, he sat there for a while, waiting for the parasite to appear, but nothing happened. Finally, he walked back through the bar and out into the night. Trinity followed him, but he looked too shaken for her to ask questions. Mouse just thought about that look on her face. For a moment, he had thought he saw flames in her eyes, but it was just the reflection of the Boston streetlamps.