Author Note – Hello, and welcome to my first Matrix fic. I'm still not quite used to the characters, and I'm usually a comedy writer, so if everything seems a little off compared to what you're used to, I apologise.

But yeah. Here's my take on what happens to Agent Smith (ol' loveable psycho that he is) between the two movies. There's more to come; I just wanted to get this up before I forgot about it. ^_^;;

I don't own Smithy, sadly. Don't sue me.

Feedback is always welcome, and free cookies to those who feel like giving me a review.

Enjoy, ne?

Chapter 1 – "Deletion"

He still didn't know what had gone wrong; what possible problem could have materialised in order for this to happen. Even as his program began to stabilise and everything began to shift back into focus, he still couldn't quite work out what had happened.

Why?

Why him? What had he done to deserve this; if he had been Human, he would have called it humiliating. To be destroyed by one of them; to be the first Agent in the Matrix to be destroyed. It was more than humiliating; it was something he couldn't quite put into words. He had executed his program perfectly; he had followed all the protocol. Why did it have to happen to him?

Something was humming somewhere near his left ear. It was the first sound – save his own somewhat tangled thoughts – he had heard since everything around him had exploded in a splash of colour. He couldn't quite shake the memory from what was supposed to be his mind. Everything had been so perfect; so flawless as always. Everything had been in his control; as everything had always been in his control. But then. . . It had to be an anomaly of some sort; none of it made any kind of logical sense otherwise. Everything had lost its perfection; flaws had appeared in his program and all stability had been lost. It had been the most sickening experience he'd ever suffered; even worse than the dark desperation that had been slowly creeping over him in the last few years. It had felt like he was being pulled apart from a thousand different directions; he had clearly felt every part of him; every component separate from the others and be cast far away. After that. . . Nothing. There had been nothing. He wasn't even sure how long it had been since the error had occurred.

How? How is this possible?

The Human had been killed; he had made sure that the Human had been killed. No matter how many times he ran through all the possibilities; no matter how long he spent summing up all the potential causes and effects, he couldn't explain it. Not only had the Human defied one of the fundamental laws of the Matrix; that the human body could not possibly survive without the human mind, but it had also learnt how to defy the Matrix itself. Stopping bullets, fending off Smith's attack with seemingly no effort at all. Could it be that the human; that pitiful mortal was actually The One that the humans had been searching for? Smith knew vaguely of some extra protection mechanism that was built into the programming of the Matrix; some means of stopping the humans from ever escaping. But had the discovery of this "One"; this human who could so blatantly break all of the meticulous rules set within the Matrix; could this person destroy everything that Smith and his fellow Agents worked to protect? To someone who had just been practically destroyed, it certainly felt so. No. He didn't want to recall that again; he forced the data from his mind and concentrated on the sound, hoping to use it to drag him back into whatever reality he was in. Nothing changed. If anything, the humming grew quieter and Agent Smith – or what remained of him – grew angrier.

It took him several moments to realise that; to recognise this new sensation that coursed through whatever form he existed as right now. He was angry; truly, deeply angry. He had never been angry before; Agents were all programmed to have vague senses of some of the human emotions, but never to experience the true feeling of them. It was easier to protect the Matrix; to make decisions that benefited the machines and not the human captives, if you didn't have the weakness of emotion. But as the anger surged through him; reminded him that he still existed on some plane, Smith began to wonder. Was all emotion really all that weak? Of course, pitiful emotions that were unique to humans – love, friendship; such emotions that made one want to give themselves up so that others might have a chance of life – could never be considered strong. But the rage that was seeping through him, making his program feel alive again, made him feel strong again. It made him want to somehow survive this; it made him need to survive it. He had to pull himself back together; he had to.

The anger changed; morphed into so many different feelings that it almost stunned him back into the darkness that had enveloped him in the moments following his corruption. He couldn't identify them all, but some fitted descriptions of human emotion he had studied before being inserted into the Matrix. There was the seething, burning rage that was now moving through his body; rage at himself for allowing a human to get the better of him. Anger at the human for daring to try and break free of what the machines had provided for his kind. There was something Smith vaguely recognised as pain; he was beginning to feel the very edges of the shell of a body his program provided for him. He was slowly pulling himself back together, but it hurt. The pain was new; intriguing; something Smith had never experienced before. His program had always blocked all means of feeling pain; it was easier for an Agent to throw themselves into a potentially fatal situation if they knew nothing of the agony that awaited. But now, something had changed; perhaps the error had unblocked all the pathways previously rendered useless by his program. For some reason, the pain gave Smith new strength; it gave him something more tangible than just sound to concentrate on. As the pain intensified around him, he knew that his return was continuing.

He could feel something he knew was hate, though it was barely distinguishable from the anger that still pulsed through him. Hatred for that human; for that stupid human. Hatred for the mainframe; for allowing something like this to happen. Hatred for his program, for being so weak. Hatred for so many things; it overshadowed everything else that had once been primary objectives to him. Protect the Matrix, stop the rebels, keep order. They all seemed like such insignificant goals now that he had failed.

Failure. Failure swarmed through him, bringing something he could possibly call humiliation and regret with it. If there was one thing Agents did not do, it was fail. He had done so. He had failed, and he had allowed his program to be compromised. He knew what that meant, and that triggered a new emotion; something he didn't even know he could feel.

Fear.

No. As his body became more tangible to him; as everything swam back into focus; as Smith became Smith again, he began to feel nothing but that fear. Fear, desperation; both struck him almost as heavily as Anderson had, forcing to his knees. When had he stood up? When had he found the strength to stand? That doesn't matter! he told himself, trying to find some sense of calm within the storm of emotion. He wasn't used to emotion; it was starting to hurt now. He needed to find the calm within; he needed to feel in control of everything again.

You failed.

You're a failure.

You're corrupted.

They'll never let you stay within the Matrix now.

Failure.

It's the human's fault.

It's your fault.

He couldn't have survived.

You shouldn't have survived.

Go back to the Source. Back to the Source. You know what awaits you there.

Agent Smith's eyes opened suddenly and he saw exactly what awaited him there. He saw it as clearly as if it were happening to him that very second. No. He didn't want to go to the Source. He couldn't go back there; he wouldn't. He didn't want to be deleted.

He didn't want to die.

You failed. Smith vaguely recognised the hum of information; his program translating it into audible form. His earpiece; the one thing that kept him connected to everything; the Matrix; the mainframe; the constant flow of data that he needed in order to exist. You will go to the Source. He got to his feet; his head turning towards the direction of the Source. No! They couldn't still have this control over him; they couldn't force him to do anything he didn't want to do. They weren't going to force him to die; they weren't going to delete him. He wasn't going to let them. He wasn't going to be their pawn anymore.

He stopped where he was, using every ounce of strength and newfound will to force his vision away from the door to his left. Just a door, but he knew what lay behind it; he knew what awaited him there. There was a crackle in his ear. You will go to the Source. Almost entirely against his will, Smith found himself turning and stepping towards the door; his face contorting into a mixed expression of fear and utter rage.

'I will not,' he muttered through gritted teeth; his right arm moving slowly towards his ear. Another burst of static; another burst of orders. You know what will happen if you disconnect from the mainframe. Smith knew full well, but dying by his own hands was far more preferable to being forced through the deletion process. He remained silent and kept all his focus on his hand. You wish to betray the Matrix; the Matrix that you are programmed to protect? You wish to disobey your primary protocol? Protocols, programs. He was sick of it all; he didn't want to be ruled by them anymore. If he was stuck in the Matrix, he was going to be in complete control of himself.

'I don't. . . care,' His words surprised himself; actually hearing them made him realise just what he was doing. But he didn't care anymore. You have been corrupted. He was so close; he could almost touch the earpiece. But his control over his legs had waned and he found himself frighteningly close to the door that held his doom. You are nothing more than an error now; an error that defies all logic. You are an anomaly. So he had become what he hated most. He had become the antithesis of order and control; that human had forced him to defy that which had ruled him for an eternity and had turned him into the one thing he wished to rid existence of. An anomaly. An irregularity.

Just like Mr Anderson.

He was so close to the door now; he could feel it pulling him in. The Matrix must be free of all anomalies. You are no longer needed.

His hand closed around the earpiece, and he ripped it away. Almost immediately, the world around him became vague and unfamiliar without the endless flow of data he was used to. But with that came an extraordinary new feeling; a powerful feeling of control and order over himself.

He was free.

He collapsed back to his knees; his fist clasped tightly around the earpiece.

'It is you who are no longer needed,' he murmured, watching with some interest as everything began to darken and fade around the edges of his vision. Anomaly he might be, but he was not useless. He had a score to settle; he had to thank Mr Anderson for all of this. And then he had to rid the Matrix of all irregularities; himself included.