The vague, distant outline of the local church filters into view as the code subsides.  I'm not particularly fond of Camon, an unpleasant sector of a worse district.  I only come here if business demands as such and in that event it must be pressing, and the visit short-lived.  After resolving to press on, I reach the church doors to be handed a pamphlet by an overzealously enthusiastic volunteer.  "Salvation lies within" she proclaims with a smile as she opens the antiquated, heavy oak doors for my benefit.  Stepping inside, I'm greeted by an increasingly familiar sight.  Tens of worshippers line the aisles, spilling over from the over-crowded pews.  The Matrix somehow has a way of reflecting the internal conflict stirring down its alleys, and in its shadows.  ‘Society' reacts as the system ebbs and flows along the waves of increasing hostility.  They seek comfort, and they search for it in buildings like this, the designated ‘holy' grounds.  A choir leads the crowd in harmonious dirge as the echoes of their voices fill the interior of the building, and as I negotiate my way through the masses I quietly slip the unread pamphlet onto the end of one of the pews. 

Reaching the confessional adjacent to the West wall, I habitually check the periphery one final time, before slipping in unnoticed.  I find my way to the seat through the pitch black and sit down, the muffled chorus of the congregation still audible through the grating.  The slide opens to reveal the silhouette of a males' profile, via shards of light emanating from tiny, rotten holes on the booths' wall behind him. 

"Father"

"Hello, Son" His custom for calling me ‘Son', whilst undesirable, is an allowance I'm able to grant him.  It provides him solace, I presume. 

"What's the good word?" I reply with a smirk.

"The same as yesterday and tomorrow" I swear I could sense his grin from the shadows, whilst I form one of my own.

"You always were consistent"

"One has to be, when that word gives hope to many.  How can I help?"  He asks, as sharp and direct as ever.

"I'm getting unsubstantiated reports of a spy in your congregation, sent on the basis of the suspicion..."

"They know that I know" He declares intuitively, cutting my sentence short. 

Concealing my slight surprise, I confirm. "Yes, that may be true"

"Then they must also know that you have come to me"

"No, I was careful.  Besides, at this point they will only be monitoring your speech patterns during an address"

My words sidestep the absolute truth.  If they suspected him, they will initiate full surveillance without a moments pause for thought.  In the current climate, ‘unsubstantiated' could mean a number of things representative of several levels of significance.    

The priest counters with the faintest hint of sarcasm. "What possible threat can an old man's words pose to the Matrix?" 

"You can influence a great many in your position"

"You know I wouldn't..." He offers abruptly, mildly insulted by the insinuation.

Despite his reaction, I continue to push.  "I turn a blind eye, and risk my status everyday for you.  I defy my work and grant you anonymity because of your counsel when..."

I find myself unable to finish my sentence, some wounds shall weep anon.

"It still pains you so" The priest detects, softening his voice and lowering it to a whisper.

Ignoring his likely pursuance, I press on forcibly unabashed "If you're giving hints or..."  

"Oh, please..." He offers in response, becoming more animated with increasing exasperation.

"...Giving hints or subtly revealing information, you put all of us at risk"

After a moment's pause, I sense the priest lean closer to the booth's divide, demanding my attention as he makes his point as slow and concisely as it takes to impress upon me.  "This knowledge is not something I take lightly, nor something I wilfully pass on.  You know this"

I don't wish to antagonise the old man, the increasing level of volume and enmity benefits neither of us, and my time here must be kept brief.  

"My apologies, Father.  I came here to warn you, please just lay low for a while, cut back on the sermons, and stay out of public view"

"I have a job to do, Son, as you have yours.  As long as this world requires it, I will give aid to those who ask"

"I still can't persuade you to come with me?" I ask with a resigned tone.  I have little doubt of his response.

"And waste a perfectly good red pill?  No, no, no, I'm precisely where I'm destined to be, as are you"

Destiny is a state of mind.  Ironically, those who attribute their successes to it barely have a foothold on the walls of any reality but the one constructed in their own minds.  Regardless of this self-delusion, the believer will continue walking blindly into darkness as if the ‘anchor of destiny' will guide them to the correct path.  There is no destiny or fate, only random spasms of action and direction.  Real world or not, we are all slaves to the desires of our own autonomy. 

"Destined according to whom, him?"  I immediately retort a little more caustically than I had intended, whilst gesturing towards his neck whereupon he wears a silver cross.

He takes it in his stride. "I still can't persuade you to believe?"

"In something as intrinsically false as the Matrix?"

"How can you say for certain that He doesn't exist?"

A slight grin somewhat unwillingly creeps across my face. "We've had this conversation, Father" 

"As we will again, no doubt" The old scoundrel was right, I'm sure we will traverse this topic on many more occasions. 

As the final strains of ‘Abide with me' draw to a close, I rise from the chair to leave. "I must go.  Be safe, Father, watch your back"

The old priest unhooks and removes the cross from around his neck, draping it over the divide towards me.  "He always does" He assures me, whilst rising from his seat and exiting the confessional, closing the door behind him. 

After all that man has done for me and for everyone aside from himself, I'm not convinced that he'd see fit to manually expose a few minds to the truth.  He doesn't fit the profile of those who wish to ultimately extract everyone whether they're compliant or not. 

The fact that someone's suspicion was alerted bothers me more than I'd like, the idea that the machines are monitoring him too much to consider.  I know where that road ends.  Even if he had thought about abusing his position to....no it's nonsense.  Our meeting had left me with further options to consider, and the near-certainty that he was innocent of the accusations made against him.  He had to be.

I slip out of the confessional, and make my way swiftly to the exit as the mass continues with fervour. 

In the dark enclosure of the booth the priest's necklace slides from off the divide, dropping to the floor.