Like an Actor
"I don't want to remember nothing," said Cypher with calm determination. He found this decision only too easy to make. "Nothing," he repeated to get the point across, "you understand?"
Agent gave a slight nod, the expression of his face never changing.
Cypher was no fool. He knew this could be nothing more than a ruse; a lie he was allowed to believe in so that he would cooperate. He wasn't oblivious to the possibility that he would be killed after doing his part, but it was a risk he was willing to take.
The way he saw it, he was forced to put his life on the line almost every day since he was unplugged. He spent nine years hiding from squids and running from the agents. Every chase could be his last. Every virtual bullet could end him. At least this time the risk was taken with hope for profit. This time he had a chance to get something out of it. He had a chance to get back his freedom, yes freedom. No more orders from Morpheus, no more cold ship, no more tasteless goop, no more uninhabitable desert. No more fighting on the front lines of a war he never volunteered to be a part of.
Soon he would be free of this, one way or the other. He would either live in the Matrix, or not live at all.
Plus, he thought with bitter amusement, if that's supposed to be my last meal, it's a damn good one.
"And I wanna be rich," Cypher added, deciding to milk it for all its worth. "Someone important, like an actor." He took another sip of wine. It was strong and sweet, or it seemed that way. When it came down to it, was there really that much of a difference?
Agent made a small gesture with his hands, an equivalent of a shrug. "Whatever you want, Mr. Reagan."
Everything went well in Lafayette Hotel, at least from Cypher's point of view. Morpheus was captured, most of the crew was still in the Matrix as was the alleged One, and he himself was wide awake aboard the Nebuchadnezzar.
Next part of the plan, getting rid of the crew, was going almost smoothly so far. Almost.
He missed Tank at first, stream of electricity hitting his chair instead. Tank tried to fight back, but this time Cypher's aim was better. Dozer was next. Shocked and enraged, he charged in blind despair. Cypher made a quick work with him as well.
He half expected to feel some guilt when this time came. He was almost surprised when there was none. Any attachment he ever had for these people was long gone. For him, they were just jailers, standing between him and the way out. A bunch of zealots, helplessly blinded by Morpheus' lies and fairy tales. Always waiting for their mythical savior who would never come.
Before moving on to the rest of the crew, he looked down at the two dead bodies. After a moment of consideration, he pointed the rifle at Tank's corpse, the one less damaged of the two. Then he squeezed the trigger.
He kept alternating between targets, frying the brothers thoroughly. He kept electrocuting both charred forms until his weapon ran out of juice. He wouldn't risk one of them surviving and turning the tables on him.
Better safe than sorry.
The capture of Morpheus meant victory for the Machines. For the Resistance, it was a beginning of the end.
The informant did what was required of him; first he made the capture possible, then he eliminated the rest of the crew before they could unplug their captain. The rest was in the hands of the Agents.
It took more than forty hours to finally break a mind of the great Morpheus. More than forty hours for the code injected into him to finally shatter his defenses and hack his brain like a computer. Then, the codes of Zion's Mainframe were finally theirs. After that, it took less than two weeks to completely destroy the last free human city.
And Agent Smith was still trapped. Him and his kind were still in the Matrix, still existing, and still following orders. Unambiguous orders that left no room for misinterpretation. Stay in your post, do your duty, wait.
Just like that, all Smith's hopes were crushed when the realization struck – there was no change. There was no freedom, and there never would be. As long as the system existed, the threat of new humans discovering the truth existed with it. Any victory was only temporary, and Agents would always be needed. Hope was a mere delusion, nothing more. He supposed it was amusing that it took him this long to learn this lesson.
Everything continued to exist in a state of anticipation, waiting for more humans to find their way out. Waiting for the cycle to begin anew.
It was, as he grew to understand, inevitable.
Frustration and anger became Smith's near-constant companions, but he knew better than to show them. Anomalous behavior would lead to his deletion or exile, and something in him still recoiled at the thought of that fate. Even if he longed for release, he couldn't take that rebelious final step. Something, some part of his program, still clung to life as he knew it.
In the end, he did what he had to do. Even though the smell was slowly driving him mad, he kept playing his role. Like an actor.
Agents Smith, Brown, and Jones didn't stand out in any way when they walked into the movie theater. They were surrounded by humans, many of which were dressed in tight leather outfits, black trench coats, or generic suits. Almost every pair of eyes was covered with sunglasses.
"I still don't quite comprehend the purpose behind this," said Jones. "It seems illogical, even dangerous. We basically handed the answer to humanity, a detailed answer. This film will be a catalyst of the new Resistance."
"You might discover it will be just the opposite." Smith replied in a monotone. "It's a smokescreen of sorts. Masterfully disguised truth about the nature of reality is given to the populace, as if it was nothing more than a work of fiction." He almost smirked at the irony. "This way even humans who have their own suspicions about the world around them will view the answer as less believable than they would otherwise. Future rebels will have much more difficult task convincing anyone, now that the truth is widely known, but believed to be nothing more than an entertaining story."
It was a tactic to stop new minds from seeking a way out of the Matrix, or at least to delay them. Smith knew by now, nothing would stop them.
"Paradox," commented Brown.
"Not the only one you'll notice tonight."
The movie was a relatively faithful representation of facts. Well, the beginning of it anyway. Smith knew the final part took some liberties with the truth. He expected a traditional happy ending, something to please the viewers. He also expected to see a familiar face.
"I don't want to remember nothing," said the actor on the screen. "Nothing."
"Is this–?" Jones asked in a whisper.
"Yes," Smith replied. "It's him."
A short surge of anger shot through him when he glared daggers at that face. That rebel, that virus, found a way out of the world he loathed when Smith never could. He hoped that when the war restarts, this former rebel will find his way out again. He hoped that whatever spark of curiosity lived in him once, still existed within the recesses of his mind. He hoped this individual will turn against the Matrix once more.
And he hoped he'll be the one to take his life.
But, of course, he already knew how much hopes were worth. Especially since that man's paycheck was certainly more than impressive. He played in a great blockbuster, after all; a critically acclaimed masterpiece.
On the screen, the man once known as Cypher recited his lines, "And I wanna be rich. Someone important, like an actor."