Author's Notes: Having tried fiddling with this for a week I've come to the conclusion it's impossible to write a good fight scene that doesn't descend into he punchs and then he kicks and so on and so forth. I settled for this instead. Any comments or complaints about the story, feel free to write.

Disclaimer: The Matrix and its characters are the property of Brothers Warner and Wachowski. Any new ones are mine. Hurray for me.

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To the casual viewer, what occurred next would have been over in little more then a second or two but between the trio involved, it was a cautious if standard opening to combat. The Twins moved first, synchronised through experience and design, they moved in tandem, each splitting off a different way. From the depths of their matching white jackets they brought up small Mac-10 machine pistols and with no hesitation spat out a hailstorm of lead with a banshee wail.

Coupled with their superior strength and the unique ability to "body hop", one of the principle things that set Agents apart from other residents of the Matrix is their practically unbeatable defence against small arms fire. The code for this ability is so deeply ingrained within an Agent's being that conscious thought isn't even required for it to kick in.

So despite the fact that the Twins filled the point where Smith was standing with enough bullets to stop a small mexican army, every single shell missed, passing almost right through him to form an elaborate patchwork of holes by the fireplace behind him.

Their ammo spent, the duo looked at each other, frowning slightly at this, though it was not entirely unexpected. One or indeed two did not survive for this long in the Matrix and not come across an occupational hazard like an Agent from time to time.

Smith for his part simply rotated his shoulders before bringing his own weapon to bare.

"My turn," he informed them calmly.

In comparison to the spitting scream of the Twin's guns, Smith's Desert Eagle boomed like thunder in the close confines of the room. With a rapid motion, he loosed off the entire clip though he quickly realised it was useless when the closest Twin faded from a corporal form into a hideous reflection of itself before becoming substantial again once the bullet embedded itself in the door way.

Smith lowered his smoking and emptied gun, his face a mixture of anger and disgust.

"Ghosts," he spat before discarding his gun.

"Agents," one of the Twins parroted, getting a smile out of the other.

Smith stretched his neck before lashing out at the closer of the two. "Not any more," he proclaimed as a hammer like uppercut caught one of the twins beneath the chin and sent him arching back towards the wall which he passed clean through as his body faded once again. Ignoring him, Smith rounded on the other Twin, who readily snapped out a kick in revenge, catching Smith in the midriff and knocking him back against the large table.

Now incensed, Smith dove forward catching his opponent by the waist and crashing the two of them through the doorway and out into the large hallway where the other Twin had just regained his bearings. Landing in a pile the two quickly separated and got to their feet, the Twin in a fighting stance that mirrored his "brother".

Smith backed up from them as they slowly attempted to circle him in order to attack him from both the front and behind. For a brief moment he took his eyes off them and focused his attention instead on the room that they had just crashed out of, where he could clearly see the various cuts on Persephone's face begin to heal themselves. No doubt a gift of the Merovingian's coding expertise.

He knew it wouldn't be long until she was mobile again and out of his reach, away to warn the Merovingian of his attentions, something he couldn't allow.

His attention was brought crashing back to the problem at hand as a pair of fists came in from opposite directions, catching him in the face and chest knocking him against one of the ornate suits of armour. His eyes went to the large sword held in the armour's gauntlets but he thought the better of it. Weapons wouldn't help him here but perhaps numbers might? He promptly sent the summons and if in the mean time he managed to defeat these two, all the better.

What followed was a graceful but deadly ballet of limbs as Smith's speed and strength fought against the numerically superior and sometime insubstantial Twins. One would probe for an opening while the other launched a flurry of attacked only to be beaten back as Smith ignored minor blows to make the best of his own opening. Forearms blocked legs, fists connected with faces, bodies pushed far beyond human limits but none of the trio backed down for a moment.

A natural lull occurred when the trio broke apart for a moment's respite. Smith looked past the Twins to see that Persephone had fully recuperated and was now the magnificent vision that she had been prior to his intervention. She was already making her way out of the room and towards another of the doors and out of danger.

"Looks like the little lady's going back where she belongs," One began, watching Smith as he watched her make her way groggily from the room.

"which means we don't have to play so nice anymore," the other naturally finished, drawing a cutthroat razor from his jacket as he did so. "He likes to keep that for when,"

"I went to get up close and personal," he stated menacingly. He was just about to begin slashing away at Smith when a large crash from the other end of the hallway drew all their attention.

Standing in the wrecked doorway that led from the main dining room stood three exact replicas of Smith, the only discernible difference being that they still were wearing their dark glasses that he had taken off during his brief interrogation of Persephone.

"What the hell?" one of the Twins asked, finishing a sentence for once.

"Triplets beat Twins," Smith mockingly informed them as his replicas rushed forward to join in the fray, the Twins eagerly meeting them halfway.

Though he would have enjoyed finishing the irritating Twins off and perhaps even converting them, he had more pressing business to take care of. He saw a flash of white from a closing doorway and knew immediately where it was he should focus his attention.

Adopting a quick stride that quickly grew into a looping run, he set off after her, halting just before the door. Leaving the sounds of battle behind him, he flung it open expecting to see a further hall like the one he had been standing in or perhaps an office similar to Persephone's but instead he found himself in a corridor of seemingly infinite length, comprised entirely of doors.

"Programmer access," he murmured to himself, never actually having been in the fabled corridor that supposedly had backdoors to practically everywhere.

This changed everything…