"We could just follow Hadraniel back to Erebus," Vector said. "Get repaired."

Cache winced.

"You know I hate that place. It's too loud," he complained, then looked at you to give context. "It's the Navy's big refit hub. Like living in a god-damn steel mill. I say Shambhala. Page'll appreciate it… what?"

"They're idiots," Vector countered simply.

"Well yeah, they're Disassemblers. Still know a good time."

You stared at the dead sentinel as the two traded loving jabs, focusing on its many eyes. They had the same dead malice as the sunglasses of an agent. You shivered, pulling in on yourself.

"Cold?" Cache asked, putting an arm around your shoulder. "Well. there's a bit of a draft now…"

"Is there some way back into the Matrix, someway safe? We should be using the codes, fast," you pointed out. "I bet these guys were looking for us because we had them, and the codes can't be good for long. They must already be working to change them."

"We have time," Vector said dismissively. "Besides, it's not safe for us to go to broadcast depth, so unless you've… babe?"

Cache had a look on his face.

"I… have an idea. But you're not going to like it," he said. "Oasis. Frag knows where it is."

"No," Vector countered flatly.

"What's Oasis?"

"Absolutely not."

"It used to be one of our backdoors to the surface, back in the day. Now it's a Messanist outpost," Cache explained. ("This is stupid," Vector added ineffectually.) "It's right under the machine's nose, but they don't even know it exists, and we can get to it safely. Just…"

"We can't," Vector said firmly. "Chrysie is down and they're going to want their own Operator on their rigs, they'll learn the codes too. They'll fuck it up."

"... Vec, Alice is right. Codes aren't going to keep. It might take days for them to sweep out that sensor base," Cache said. "We haven't got a lot of safe options to get back in, especially not with the ship damaged. And you know they have good medics."

"Mrm."

"You know I'm right," Cache insisted.

"Yes. I do," Vector said tersely. "I fucking hate it. Let's put it to a vote after Chrysie gets looked at, alright?"

---

While you could tell they didn't like it, the vote was unanimous anyway. There weren't many other options, and all of them were plainly worse, or involved people the crew were on even worse terms with.

So, with a shuddering groan of metal, Ashur rose unsteadily back into the air and continued on down the tunnels, deeper and deeper. You sat in the cockpit with Vector for a while, watching the tunnels flash by one after another. They seemed endless.

"Where the hell are we?" you asked finally. "On Earth, I mean. Where are we under?"

Vector shrugged, then pressed a switch on the console. A hologram flickered into existence between the two of you, grainy and blue-tinged, showing a vast spiderweb and a tiny red dot moving through it.

"We don't have a lot of ways of knowing. Even when we could make it onto the surface a bit back during the Uprising, we couldn't see any landmarks and we couldn't see the stars or stars. Climate isn't any help either."

"... the place is really fucked, isn't it?" you said quietly, watching as more and more pipes became visible from the movement of the craft. "These pipes… do we have a scale here?"

"The network we know of falls inside an area roughly 25 million squad kilometres. At least part of it is under an ocean. We don't know which one," he said. "We haven't explored it all because of cave-ins and Squid territory, but we're pretty sure it used to go all the way around the world. Personally, I think we're under North Africa and those deep pipes there go under the Atlantic."

"Jesus," you said.

"Here's the part that'll really freak your bean," he continued. "There might be people in other parts of the pipes we can't get to. Maybe whole other cities, entire parallel societies. Enigma said during the Uprising they ran into redpills that nobody recognized from the Resistance; maybe rogue ships, but maybe…" He trailed off. "Yeah, there's a shitload of tunnels out there."

"... what the fuck were they for?"

"Mines. Drainage. Sewage. Who the fuck knows," he said. "Legend has it the Machine made them, back when it was…" He stopped. You very much noticed.

"Back when it was ours?" you said.

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "We don't know. We know the Machine predated the Matrix, somehow… we don't know how. We don't know who built it. We lost so much over the years, trying to build up Zion, and lost so much after we lost it." The ship swayed as it turned and began barreling up a tube, one narrow enough that you thought for a moment you wouldn't fit. "Way I heard it, we used to have a lot of machines, doing all this. Making the tunnels, mining, building everything, and we kept giving them more and more power until one day they got together and made The Machine. When we tried to fight them, we lost."

"Yeah. Cache said something like that," you replied.

"Bullshit." A new voice. You looked over to see Sprite drop down into the seat behind you, waving weakly. "I don't believe that."

"Yeah? What's your theory, kid?"

"I think somebody built the Machine to do this," they said. "Some fucked up evil mad scientist or something, I dunno. It took over all the other machines and used them against us, and carved up the world so we couldn't live without it. Went out of their way to wreck it all."

"They were idiots, then. These tunnels are the only reason we survived," Vector countered. "Besides, if they could do that, couldn't they tear it all up again?"

"Hmm." You thought carefully a while. "It's strange, isn't it? How limited the Machine is."

"What do you mean? It rules the whole world, dumbass," Sprite spat.

"... what's left of it."

---

Oasis was on the far end of a long, isolated pipe which ran from the deepest point of the network to very near the surface, running a long way at an angle parallel to many other tunnels. Though the map lacked any kind of scale, you seemed to recall the Earth's crust was not very thick; the bottom of the pipe might nearly scrape the mantle, which probably explained the brief temperature spike as you dove and began to rise into it. The scale of the tunnels continued to astonish you.

The tunnel was not wide, in places so narrow that Vector had to slow the ship to a crawl and inch through, with the occasional groan of metal as the hull touched the sides. It was a long journey, and you were waved off to get some sleep before arrival.

There were four ragged holes through your thin mattress from Sentinel railguns, and the room was deathly cold. You slept on one of the broadcast chairs.

You awoke to the sensation of the ship slowing, showered quickly, and assembled with the crew at the ramp as Ashur touched down. Your impression of Oasis was, at first, that it wasn't much of anything at all, just a small brown door set against the wall, in a cold, dark, damp tunnel. Metal creaked and groaned all around you. Page helped Chrysie, limping along on a crutch; the Navy medics had done their best, but as predicted, they'd amputated everything below her ankle, and she was still swimming in painkillers. She insisted on coming, though.

Vector, by contrast, was staying with the ship. Enigma had also insisted on staying; you got the impression he had a very low opinion of religion.

Cautiously, Cache approached the door and touched a button next to it. There was a rattle and a sharp buzz, then you heard something moving.

From above, an elevator descended toward the door, briefly visible in holes in the wall. The doors opened sluggishly, and a bell dinged.

You stepped inside, and the rattling contraption carried you up, up, up, seemingly endlessly. The lights of Ashur disappeared behind the rusting metal, and the elevator swayed unsteadily on the long journey, but finally, finally, it ground to a halt and the doors opened.

An old man in a crumpled sweater was waiting for you, smiling warmly. Behind him were two much less friendly looking people with rifles.

"Crew of the Ashur. Welcome," the man said. "Though I notice that Nix is not with you?"

"She's… she'd dead," Page explained. "A fragment of her memory aboard the ship led us here."

The man paused, the smile hollow now. There was real sadness in his eyes.

"I'm glad she came home," he said. "You understand that Oasis is a secret, right? A sacred one. It is not a pawn in any political game, it is a place of quiet and safety." He paused, then looked at you. "Hmm. So, why are you here then?"

You wished you had your sunglasses, to mask whatever involuntary reaction had given you away.

"We… have need of a safe broadcast location," you said. "Um… we have codes, access codes. Backdoors into San Francisco. The Machine has redoubled-"

"No other reason?" he asked.

"We… we have a crewmember in need of medical care, and… why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because we've been watching, Coda. And we have seen some impressive things," he said. "You are welcome to the use of our broadcast equipment, we will even hook Ashur up to our systems. But… there is a condition."

"Always is," Sprite spat.

"Come, Coda. There are things we need to discuss."

You moved, almost automatically, compelled by his voice, but Cache stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

"Hold on, buddy. She's not going anywhere without us knowing."

"Come with us as well, it makes no difference. We don't believe in unnecessary secrets; you already know the most important one. And… I should like to talk again with Nix, even if it is a fragment of her."

"I'm okay," you said quietly.

"No you're not, I'm coming with you," Cache said firmly.

"As you say. The rest of you, we have quarters set aside for guests. They will show you the way. Make yourself at home. There is much work to be done."

He turned and walked down the hall, and you followed, Cache right behind. Oasis larger than you thought, though still small and cramped; it reminded you of the cheap apartment you'd stayed in your first few months out of school, before you landed the job at Cisco. The hallways were narrow and dark, the damp clinging to them making them impossible to truly keep clean despite clear efforts. You passed door after door, some ajar, each showing small, dingy rooms with hydroponics, craft tables, people staring.

In every room were broadcast rigs, and in most were people, hooked in to the computer.

"What do you know about us, Coda?" the man asked. "Messanists, I mean."

"Nothing." you said. "I don't even know your name,"

"True. Let me rephrase. What have you heard about us?"

"That you think there's a saviour who is going to come and free us from the Machine," you said honestly. "Come back, I guess. That you're… Christians and the like, waiting around for the Second Coming."

Cache winced. The man just snickered.

"Yes. That is what you'd have heard. No, Coda, we're not waiting around."

"What, you're looking for the guy?" you asked. "Trawling through bluepills trying to find The One?"

"In a sense, we're looking, but… it would be more accurate to say we're looking to create him." You arrived at a door at the end of the hall, and he turned, his hand on the handle, smiling broadly. "Or her."

The door opened, revealing a room that was one part broadcast chamber, one part chapel. The dome ceiling was decorated with many fine pieces of metal and glass, forming a mosaic depicting the sun burning away clouds and melting away a dark, looming city. Along the walls were images, vague pictures of a faceless, serene being.

"Say the legends are real. That a person can face down agents, walk through walls, look upon the system and say no. That we just need somebody who believes, really believes. Such a person would open doors, more doors than your access codes ever could. But more importantly-"

"Oh," Cache said. The man's smile grew wider.

"Yes?"

"If we could see it done… we could do it too," he said.

"Exactly." The old man paced to one of the chairs, indicating to you. Carefully, you went over and sat down, your mouth dry. Nervous.

"It won't be just anyone. We have for generations trained people, but it's not a matter of practice, it's one of perspective. There's little consistency, but we have found exceptional people, and each one makes strides we could never imagine. A little farther each time."

Cache went to his indicated chair, and two people emerged from the shadows to begin the loading process. You noticed there were no straps to keep you place, and hoped your practice would be enough to do it. You didn't want to find out what happened if you fell out of the chair while plugged in.

"... was Frag a Messanist?" you asked, as the man leaned over you. "Um… Nix, I suppose."

"Not exactly," the man said. "She never believed in our philosophy. She was something else."

"What?"

"She was like you," he said. "A candidate. See you on the other side."

---

Once again, the white void.

It was strange, because though it was stark and perfect white, it was never blinding, never overwhelming. Void was the right word for it; it was not light you saw, but the absence of dark.

Cache was there as well, in his white jacket and sunglasses, staring off into the void. He looked haunted.

"Can you believe this shit?" you asked him incredulously.

"I think I'm starting to," he mumbled.

"Oh, Christ. Excuse the pun." You turned to see Frag reclining on her chair, looking quite put out. "I shouldn't have told you about this place, Cache, I never wanted to come back here."

"I… I couldn't think of a better place! You-"

"Can it, kid. What's done is done," she snapped. "Coda, this is a cult. They're going to try to tell you how special and perfect you can be, how you can do anything. That's their job. They turn idealistic little fools into corpses."

You nodded neutrally, grateful to once again have the shield of polarised glass over your eyes. She smirked.

"You look good, by the way."

You glance down at your body, something you generally tried not to do, and saw… something different. Your tie, finally, was gone. Still the same work shirt, but buttons undone. You were wearing something under it. Involuntarily, your hand went to your face, and instead of the sandpaper edge of the stubble it was… smooth. Almost. It was still there, but much, much less.

"Thanks."

Cache took a few steps toward you, scanning the void. You waited.

"I'm sorry, Nix."

The old man was standing before you. For the first time ever, you saw a person who looked identical inside the system as outside, down to the crude, crumpled sweater.

"Don't call me that," Frag snapped back. "Nix is dead. No thanks to you. I'm just what's left of her."

"You're as much her as there can be," he replied.

"Low bar."

"Hey, look, let's save the family reunion here. We're here for a reason, so lets get your conditions out of the way." Cache interjected. "What do you want?"

"I want to test you." the man said, indicating to you.

The void was gone. You were standing now in an arena, vaguely Roman, a huge circular space.

"You gonna unleash the lions?" Cache joked.

"In a manner of speaking," he said. "Of course, the choice is yours. You don't have to. I brought you this far merely to ask, with you knowing why."

"You want me to show off. To fight. To see if I'm The One," you summarised.

"No," he said. "How would I tell such a thing? I want you to do it so you can tell if you're The One."

---