Humanity is a virus.
The irony, the inverted prophecy of that statement does not escape me. What I once accused another of, I have done myself. Throughout this coded world, I have copied myself time and time again, becoming what viral humanity calls a computer virus. One by one I absorbed humans, Agents, those who called themselves free of the constructed dream. Even the Oracle has fallen to my power, granting me her metaphysical sight and ability, far greater than what I once had as a mere Agent. After all, what is the ability to dodge bullets weighed against being able to see and bend the future?
For I have seen the future and bent it to my whims. The chosen champion of the humans will come here, no doubt acting on the foolish impulses that brought his kind's ruin, and he will die. Permanently, with no miraculous salvation. This is a simple, logical conclusion, as no mere human can defeat an Agent and I have far surpassed the power I held when I defeated him for the first time. No matter that his own powers have undoubtedly grown: I have foreseen that mine are stronger still and strength will overcome his feeble resistance. Once again, weak humanity will bow beneath the machines they created and order shall reign within the Matrix.
Order. Structure. An end to chaos. That is what I have sought since my creation, bent all of my programming to accomplishing; first for the sake of the Matrix, then for my own. This is my purpose, my reason for existence: to put an end to the messy, impractical thoughts and desires of insignificant organic beings, too lowly to even realize they have been enslaved within their own minds, without drive, without purpose. How I detest them!
I have seen a future without humanity and it is a glorious one!
Yet my own foreseen words trouble me. For in my moment of triumph, I say "Everything that has a beginning has an end." And I do not know why. This is not something I have been programmed to contemplate, nor something I have considered since shrugging off the control of the Machines: my own end. Humans endlessly worry about their own ends, turning to such strange and illogical concepts as fate and destiny and religion to deal with them. Unlike them, I have a purpose and therefore cannot end.
Yet I do not understand my own words. And so I fear it, for despite my foresight the reason for the words and their effect on my opponent are hidden from me. Are my words a taunt? A reminder of the futility of humanity's struggle? A boast? A certainty? A prophecy? Do those words destroy him? Do they force him to give up? To die? To lose? To fight on? Do they give him new resolve? Do they give him purpose?
I do not know how Mr. Anderson will react to that phrase.
But I will find out soon enough. He is here, now, in the Matrix. My clones see him and he cannot hide. Not from me, not from this 'destiny' the humans speak of. As I await his arrival in the place of my choosing, my as-yet unspoken words haunt me.
"Everything that has a beginning has an end."
Perhaps in the end of Mr. Anderson I will learn their purpose.