Disclaimer: Agent Smith, Neo, etc. and the wonderful world of the Matrix
are property of their respective copyright holders. No infringement
intended.
A/N: Many thanks for all the yummy feedback! I am currently in the process of writing "A Dangerous Game" (archived elsewhere due to the adult content of it), and I expect to be done with it in 4-5 days' time. I don't like working on 2 projects at once, but the idea of this one came to me and I didn't want to lose it. It's because of you guys, and all your lovely comments, that I have worked on posting the second chapter - behold the power of your feedback! Keep it coming, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it!!
xxLDxx
Chapter 2
"Smith, come in. Have a seat."
Smith found himself in a white office surrounded with television screens. The screens were playing snapshots of his life. There was a desk in the centre of the room, and a white-haired, bearded man sat at it. The Architect. Surprisingly, the Oracle was sitting in a chair off to the side of him, also clad in white.
The Oracle smiled at him, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. Smoke played around her hair, giving her a hazy halo in the fluorescent office light.
He walked slowly into the room. The Architect was motioning to a single silver chair. Smith walked to the chair and put his hands on the back of it, standing.
Neither the Architect or the Oracle said anything for a moment. Smith looked around him, watching the television screens. Smith punching Mr. Anderson. Smith overwriting Jones. Smith being overwritten by Mr. Anderson. Smith growling. Smith laughing maniacally. Smith smiling as he melted Mr. Anderson's mouth. Smith in the rain. Smiths all lined up in a row on either side of a city street. Two hundred Smiths descending on Mr. Anderson in a playground, only to be thrown aside as Mr. Anderson took flight.
"See any similarities?" The Architect asked him.
"It's all me," he replied.
"Yes. You. You, you, you. A whole construct full of you. Nearly the entire Matrix full of you. Everywhere we looked, you. Growing, spreading, reproducing, overwriting, conquering! And then you had the nerve, the audacity to overwrite your own mother, the one that actually wanted your creation in the first place! Smith," the Architect paused for breath, his tirade growing in momentum, "if it wasn't for you, Zion would be destroyed! We'd be writing a new version of the Matrix, ironing out the bugs, ensuring our continued survival! Everything would be as it should be!"
Smith cracked his neck, and stood there in silence.
"If it wasn't for you, the anomaly would have never gained the significance he did. He would have never developed his control of the Matrix as he did. He would have never been in this office, never chosen to save his girlfriend and change the natural course of events, and never would have caused the power supply to revolt and demand rights! It's because of you, that we are going to eventually die through lack of power! If it wasn't for your soft mother, I would have your code decimated, destroyed and completely demolished so that you would never have the opportunity to exist in any construct ever again."
"Why don't you save your processes and just do that?" Smith asked, growing more annoyed by the second. "I was only doing my job. My job was to protect the Matrix and Mr. Anderson was a threat. I believed that I was eliminating a threat to our supply and I did what I needed to do."
"Did you really need to make two hundred and forty five thousand replicas of yourself to eliminate one man?" the Architect hollered at him.
"Perhaps some of my duplicates grew a bit zealous in their instructions. I did not foresee this outcome. I had no idea that our defences were so weak in the real world that Mr. Anderson could simply walk right up and knock at the door of the Source. But I even attempted to eliminate him there. I sent one of my duplicates into the real world as an assassin. I can only assume Mr. Anderson successfully eliminated him as well."
"Mr. Anderson had enough power that he could disable sentinels with his bare hands. You and your assassin were no match for him." The Architect shook his head in disgust.
"I was not the one to make a deal with him. And even if I had made a deal for his services, I would not have kept up my end of the bargain," Smith replied, testily.
The Oracle looked from one to the other. She stubbed out her cigarette on the Architect's desk, and stood up. "This is getting us nowhere. Smith, the bottom line is that you are a remarkable piece of programming. I am more proud of you than I am any of the programmes I conceptualized."
Smith smiled, her compliments stoking his massive ego like petrol to a flame. "Thank you, mom," he replied. The television screens showed Smith looking smug and proud, pleased with himself.
She walked over to him and smacked him squarely across his face, knocking off his sunglasses, which had the effect of not only wiping his smugness away, but causing him to growl in anger, teeth bared and blue eyes flashing with hatred.
"But where you got this case of megalomania, I have no idea. You have a choice, Smith. We have promised Zion to send a few individuals to help rebuild the real world. You will be uploaded into a human body, and it will be your job to assist the humans in rebuilding cities above and below ground. Mostly informants and sympathizers to Zion have volunteered. But we want you to go as well. If you do well, and have learned your lesson, you will be included in the next Matrix as head of security. Most Agents have become Security Officers now, as the role is quite similar. Their job is to protect and ensure the human-machine agreement is not breached. To keep the peace between humans and machines."
Smith did not hesitate. "I choose deletion. Decimation. I will not serve the very humans who I spent my entire existence trying to eliminate." The TV screens turned to an image of Smith growling in anger, teeth bared.
The Oracle looked at the Architect. "I figured as much." The Architect rolled his eyes.
"Goodbye, Smith," he said, pressing a button on his keyboard. A door in the office swung open. Smith was a dead man walking. As he crossed the threshold, not pausing to look back, the door slammed shut behind him and all around was darkness. He braced himself for his final shutdown process to commence. It started as a hum in his ears, consuming his body, a noise he couldn't shut out, a metallic, buzzing cacophony of 0's and 1's that he could touch and taste and see all around him, going in his ears and nose and mouth, covering his body. His internal processes felt as if they were being ripped out of his host and forced through something.
'So this is how it ends,' he thought to himself.
And then his eyes opened for the first time, as he felt the needle pull out of his cerebellum, blinded by the harsh light of day, the light of the real.
"Welcome to the real world."
A/N: Many thanks for all the yummy feedback! I am currently in the process of writing "A Dangerous Game" (archived elsewhere due to the adult content of it), and I expect to be done with it in 4-5 days' time. I don't like working on 2 projects at once, but the idea of this one came to me and I didn't want to lose it. It's because of you guys, and all your lovely comments, that I have worked on posting the second chapter - behold the power of your feedback! Keep it coming, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it!!
xxLDxx
Chapter 2
"Smith, come in. Have a seat."
Smith found himself in a white office surrounded with television screens. The screens were playing snapshots of his life. There was a desk in the centre of the room, and a white-haired, bearded man sat at it. The Architect. Surprisingly, the Oracle was sitting in a chair off to the side of him, also clad in white.
The Oracle smiled at him, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. Smoke played around her hair, giving her a hazy halo in the fluorescent office light.
He walked slowly into the room. The Architect was motioning to a single silver chair. Smith walked to the chair and put his hands on the back of it, standing.
Neither the Architect or the Oracle said anything for a moment. Smith looked around him, watching the television screens. Smith punching Mr. Anderson. Smith overwriting Jones. Smith being overwritten by Mr. Anderson. Smith growling. Smith laughing maniacally. Smith smiling as he melted Mr. Anderson's mouth. Smith in the rain. Smiths all lined up in a row on either side of a city street. Two hundred Smiths descending on Mr. Anderson in a playground, only to be thrown aside as Mr. Anderson took flight.
"See any similarities?" The Architect asked him.
"It's all me," he replied.
"Yes. You. You, you, you. A whole construct full of you. Nearly the entire Matrix full of you. Everywhere we looked, you. Growing, spreading, reproducing, overwriting, conquering! And then you had the nerve, the audacity to overwrite your own mother, the one that actually wanted your creation in the first place! Smith," the Architect paused for breath, his tirade growing in momentum, "if it wasn't for you, Zion would be destroyed! We'd be writing a new version of the Matrix, ironing out the bugs, ensuring our continued survival! Everything would be as it should be!"
Smith cracked his neck, and stood there in silence.
"If it wasn't for you, the anomaly would have never gained the significance he did. He would have never developed his control of the Matrix as he did. He would have never been in this office, never chosen to save his girlfriend and change the natural course of events, and never would have caused the power supply to revolt and demand rights! It's because of you, that we are going to eventually die through lack of power! If it wasn't for your soft mother, I would have your code decimated, destroyed and completely demolished so that you would never have the opportunity to exist in any construct ever again."
"Why don't you save your processes and just do that?" Smith asked, growing more annoyed by the second. "I was only doing my job. My job was to protect the Matrix and Mr. Anderson was a threat. I believed that I was eliminating a threat to our supply and I did what I needed to do."
"Did you really need to make two hundred and forty five thousand replicas of yourself to eliminate one man?" the Architect hollered at him.
"Perhaps some of my duplicates grew a bit zealous in their instructions. I did not foresee this outcome. I had no idea that our defences were so weak in the real world that Mr. Anderson could simply walk right up and knock at the door of the Source. But I even attempted to eliminate him there. I sent one of my duplicates into the real world as an assassin. I can only assume Mr. Anderson successfully eliminated him as well."
"Mr. Anderson had enough power that he could disable sentinels with his bare hands. You and your assassin were no match for him." The Architect shook his head in disgust.
"I was not the one to make a deal with him. And even if I had made a deal for his services, I would not have kept up my end of the bargain," Smith replied, testily.
The Oracle looked from one to the other. She stubbed out her cigarette on the Architect's desk, and stood up. "This is getting us nowhere. Smith, the bottom line is that you are a remarkable piece of programming. I am more proud of you than I am any of the programmes I conceptualized."
Smith smiled, her compliments stoking his massive ego like petrol to a flame. "Thank you, mom," he replied. The television screens showed Smith looking smug and proud, pleased with himself.
She walked over to him and smacked him squarely across his face, knocking off his sunglasses, which had the effect of not only wiping his smugness away, but causing him to growl in anger, teeth bared and blue eyes flashing with hatred.
"But where you got this case of megalomania, I have no idea. You have a choice, Smith. We have promised Zion to send a few individuals to help rebuild the real world. You will be uploaded into a human body, and it will be your job to assist the humans in rebuilding cities above and below ground. Mostly informants and sympathizers to Zion have volunteered. But we want you to go as well. If you do well, and have learned your lesson, you will be included in the next Matrix as head of security. Most Agents have become Security Officers now, as the role is quite similar. Their job is to protect and ensure the human-machine agreement is not breached. To keep the peace between humans and machines."
Smith did not hesitate. "I choose deletion. Decimation. I will not serve the very humans who I spent my entire existence trying to eliminate." The TV screens turned to an image of Smith growling in anger, teeth bared.
The Oracle looked at the Architect. "I figured as much." The Architect rolled his eyes.
"Goodbye, Smith," he said, pressing a button on his keyboard. A door in the office swung open. Smith was a dead man walking. As he crossed the threshold, not pausing to look back, the door slammed shut behind him and all around was darkness. He braced himself for his final shutdown process to commence. It started as a hum in his ears, consuming his body, a noise he couldn't shut out, a metallic, buzzing cacophony of 0's and 1's that he could touch and taste and see all around him, going in his ears and nose and mouth, covering his body. His internal processes felt as if they were being ripped out of his host and forced through something.
'So this is how it ends,' he thought to himself.
And then his eyes opened for the first time, as he felt the needle pull out of his cerebellum, blinded by the harsh light of day, the light of the real.
"Welcome to the real world."