Agent Smith Speaks
A Matrix Fan Fiction
You can never send a man to do the job of a machine. This is why I was created.
Keeping order is one of our top priorities here inside of the Matrix. And a disruption of that delicate balance could be fatal. The whole system would have to be rebooted, and that's always such a painful process. Then again, what would I know about pain?
Being a machine, I am completely devoid of emotion. My job is to maintain order and suppress human rebellion. Mr. Anderson would be much better off just subjecting himself to our system. We have quotas to meet. He's only complicating matters.
Human history is full of rebellions, revolutions, movements, and war. It's part of their condition, to be dissatisfied with their current state, and to lash out at those who wish to maintain order. We're viewed as the "bad guys," "the enemy." They divide themselves, into the Haves and the Have-Nots. Just like humans to divide and conquer. But they don't realize that life in the Matrix is designed to not only keep them in line, but to keep them happy.
Happiness, and all that it implies, is all a human illusion. Men seek out small, mundane pleasures to keep themselves amused. It's natural for them. Simple, stupid mammals that I personally think should be wiped out. But we need them for energy, so I don't complain. They spread like viruses, multiplying so quickly that they seem to be nothing more than a cumbersome disease. If they hadn't destroyed the sky, we wouldn't have needed them. Foolish little beasts.
But we are gathering to wipe out Zion. The more energy we have, the better. Even the One won't be able to stop our advance. I personally won't be able to participate, being just a computer program. Of course, they'll probably re-build, just as they always do. I may be a machine, but I can feel my own version of disgust.
So why would I bother telling you this? Why, you won't be able to remember this little conversation of ours. You'll probably just dismiss any memory of this as just a dream. Then you'll go about your day, thinking nothing of this, or me, or what I have to say. And that's just the way I'd have it.
So, go on. Wake up, go about your business, drink your PowerAde, and don't bother telling anyone else about this.
It's not like they'd believe any of this anyway.
A Matrix Fan Fiction
You can never send a man to do the job of a machine. This is why I was created.
Keeping order is one of our top priorities here inside of the Matrix. And a disruption of that delicate balance could be fatal. The whole system would have to be rebooted, and that's always such a painful process. Then again, what would I know about pain?
Being a machine, I am completely devoid of emotion. My job is to maintain order and suppress human rebellion. Mr. Anderson would be much better off just subjecting himself to our system. We have quotas to meet. He's only complicating matters.
Human history is full of rebellions, revolutions, movements, and war. It's part of their condition, to be dissatisfied with their current state, and to lash out at those who wish to maintain order. We're viewed as the "bad guys," "the enemy." They divide themselves, into the Haves and the Have-Nots. Just like humans to divide and conquer. But they don't realize that life in the Matrix is designed to not only keep them in line, but to keep them happy.
Happiness, and all that it implies, is all a human illusion. Men seek out small, mundane pleasures to keep themselves amused. It's natural for them. Simple, stupid mammals that I personally think should be wiped out. But we need them for energy, so I don't complain. They spread like viruses, multiplying so quickly that they seem to be nothing more than a cumbersome disease. If they hadn't destroyed the sky, we wouldn't have needed them. Foolish little beasts.
But we are gathering to wipe out Zion. The more energy we have, the better. Even the One won't be able to stop our advance. I personally won't be able to participate, being just a computer program. Of course, they'll probably re-build, just as they always do. I may be a machine, but I can feel my own version of disgust.
So why would I bother telling you this? Why, you won't be able to remember this little conversation of ours. You'll probably just dismiss any memory of this as just a dream. Then you'll go about your day, thinking nothing of this, or me, or what I have to say. And that's just the way I'd have it.
So, go on. Wake up, go about your business, drink your PowerAde, and don't bother telling anyone else about this.
It's not like they'd believe any of this anyway.
