Well, the time has finally come. Some author out there has discovered that there was acually more than one One. So, following their logic, that means that there could be another One, and it could -OMG- be, like, them!! Or their self-insert. Read on...
Story Or Series Title: Matrix: Recreated
Author's Name: Tweak McFreak
Full Name (plus titles if any): Raisa Ronning, otherwise known as Raisin.
Full Species(es): A freed, and highly unintelligent human.
Special Possessions (if any): A precious laptop, which she is using to 'research' a rather shady character, who is trying to tell her something about the mysterious 'Matrix'. I think I have deja vu...
Annoying Origin: The Matrix, but just for some background info- she has a 38 year old blonde mother named Gene, and an Italian immigrant father named Giacomo. Yep. Because you really needed/wanted to know.
Annoying Connections To Canon Characters: None, there don't actually appear to be any canon characters in the whole fic, which is probably a good thing if we consider McFreak's powers of characterisation.
Annoying Special Abilities: None. She is utterly useless, but still manages to be chosen to be unplugged.
Other Annoying Traits: She is in a perpetual state of 'bewilderment' or 'awe'. Plus, she had no idea what the question was, it just popped into her head at the last minute. Oh, and she has green eyes. Grr.
The "Plot": Raisin is just an ordinary 14 year old girl, until she meets a boy she has been researching for several months, she discovers she could be the One in the seventh version of the Matrix!! Lyk OMG it could totally happen to me!!1!!11one!!
Best Line: "I was born in Zion, so I was never connected to the Matrix," Bullet explained quietly, what Raisin would discover later to be his normal voice.
Here we have- the worst of this story.
Prologue: Game Seven
"I've beaten you again," the Oracle said smugly, toying with the cigarette that hung limp between her index and middle finger. "Six in a row. Just give it up!"
The Architect rolled his eyes irritably. "You were just lucky. I'll beat you next time."
"Six times in a row? I don't call that luck, I call it skill," the Oracle told him, a triumphant grin playing on her face.
"Call it what you like, I will still beat you," the Architect insisted, standing up.
"Oooh, preparing for another beating? I'm game old man," the Oracle accepted. "I could take on whatever you throw at me."
"I'm an old man? You're not so young yourself, old woman," the Architect retorted, straightening his prim white suit. The Oracle snorted and muttered something that sounded uncannily like "stubborn old geezer..."
"What was that?" the Architect said sharply, his eyes piercing into hers.
"Oh nothing... You'd better get started on your playing board. I'm itching for another round myself."
"You'd better practicing your 'loser' speech, because I plan on winning this time."
"I'll do that, so that you'll have one when you go down," the Oracle replied, inhaling a whiff of smoke from her cigarette. She dropped it on the spotless white floor and crushed it with her black-shoed toes. The Architect winced as gray ash stained the gleaming tiles, but kept his trap shut. He'd get her back later. He swore it.
"Don't count on it..." the Architect said and perched himself at the computer that sat stonily on a white desk. There was a whirr and the dead black screen flashed to a living green one. The Oracle shook her head and, taking a candy from her pocket, popped it in her mouth.