"You're not special."

[Seventh Soul]

I paused, blinking into the light of the hallway outside my apartment.

"I... didn't hear you," was my response.

"You're not special, kid." The voice was male, and touched with a hint of what only comes to mind as condescension.

"Oh." I paused.
"That sucks."

"Come with me, we've got a bit of talking to do."

This next part of the story, all of you have heard before.
Hell.
You all probably know the precise emotions and thoughts that were running through my head when those little jelly beans were held out to me.

I, like so many before me, chose the red pill.

I can't say it was a mistake.
I can't say it wasn't a mistake, either.

The Matrix before the pill.
Paradise.

The Real World.
Shit.

The Matrix after the pill.
Something special was missing.
It was like picking up a prostitute who refused to swallow it.

But, then again.
Prostitute's a prostitute.

My name is Jonathan Michaels.
Former alias "Seventh Soul".
Do not even mention the band "Caliban" to me.
Nobody calls me Seventh Soul.
It's "Jonathan" or "Michaels".
If, and that's a big if, I like you, I might consider letting you call me "Jon".

I'm that kid who insists on going on every assignment just so I can get a little feeler from the Matrix.

Maybe we'll work together sometime.

If I don't blow you off for a decent meal.