They remained there for several days but it felt like much longer, they could have been imprisoned for weeks, month or even years. The programs almost lost their concept of time but one thing was certain... They were in there for far too long.
Johnson started wrestling with the chains but it was no use.
If only he was strong. "Why didn't the Architect consider this? He thought aloud, he was clearly irritated.
"About what?" Asked Jackson, the young Agent hadn't said much ever since they arrived here.
"Why didn't the Architect make us more powerful?"
He continued fighting against the chains but eventually surrendered and his hands fell to the floor. The iron chains made a slight clattering noise as they hit the ground.
They sat in silence until Johnson spoke again. "The only way out is through that door but as we all know, the Merovingian's men are not required to enter this room." Johnson continued as he nodded at the only door in the room.
There were no windows or even bars, just thick, black walls and an old wooden door that had a rusty, metal lock. They assumed that this room was underground.
The Merovingian's men never entered their cell. Which inevitably, made their chances of escape even smaller.
If the Agents were humans then the henchmen would need to enter their prison cell daily but programs didn't require food, water or sleep. They only ever did those functions to appear more human, to maintain order in the Matrix, to keep humans under control.
The Merovingian was one of the only programs who regularly ate meals and drank his expensive, French red wine.
The Agents hardly ever ate anything, the only reason why they ever did was when they were with human company for extensive amounts of time.
Agents never understood what pleasure a program found in consuming food. It was an unnecessary process, humans were the only creatures in the Matrix that needed food to survive.
If they knew the truth about this world then they wouldn't need to consume nutrients either.
The silence was once again broken by another being running down the stairs.
Whatever it was, it was heading towards the door of their cell.
"Smith." Was all that Johnson could say.
"Could it be?" Replied Jones, he glanced at Johnson and then, along with the other Agents, focused on the door.
The door swung open and slamed against the wall, the figure stood in the doorway.
It was hard to make out who it was since the men's eyes were still adjusting to the intense amount of light that was shining in from the corridor.
"Come, there is no time."
The voice did not sound familiar.