He fought like a businessman. All raw power and force, smashing concrete
walls. Neo fought like an artist all graceful kicks and impossible jumps.
They were a strange and powerful compliment with all the aspects of a fight
to make it one of the greatest. Smith knew he could have killed him. He had
another gun. But it seemed a shame. He had improved so much. He was so
beautiful.
He had, in a way hoped it would be futile. Victory would have been hollow to have Mr. Anderson, Neo, as just another copy of himself. He had to defeat him, of course, kill him so that this.feeling.would cease. He knew he could have done better. But even being hit by him was a pleasure. Sometimes he allowed himself to line up perfectly for an impossible move (like when Neo had bounced off the wall and hit a Smith in each fist) just because it was amazing. Just because he wasn't an artist didn't mean he couldn't appreciate art. He felt the loss keenly when Anderson flew away but it didn't matter. They would meet again. The world and the Matrix was saving The One just for him. He knew it.
He had, in a way hoped it would be futile. Victory would have been hollow to have Mr. Anderson, Neo, as just another copy of himself. He had to defeat him, of course, kill him so that this.feeling.would cease. He knew he could have done better. But even being hit by him was a pleasure. Sometimes he allowed himself to line up perfectly for an impossible move (like when Neo had bounced off the wall and hit a Smith in each fist) just because it was amazing. Just because he wasn't an artist didn't mean he couldn't appreciate art. He felt the loss keenly when Anderson flew away but it didn't matter. They would meet again. The world and the Matrix was saving The One just for him. He knew it.