Agent Smith Amuses Himself
On an anonymous Thursday, Agent Smith found himself in a lobby with an appointment with the Mother Board of Directors of the Matrix.
The room was completely bare. Beyond the threat of human infiltration, there was no point to keep up the pretense of humanity in that lobby – painted walls, hung photographs, or any "human touch." Because they weren't human. There was some hastily conjured plaster on the walls, and bare spots peeked out at Smith. The machines desired functionality above style, and this room was the epitome of this philosophy. Bare and square.
The secretary was out to lunch, and Smith was the only one waiting in the lobby. Being the most advanced of all of the sentient programs, his though processes moved faster than any of the other machines could clock. This made for many milliseconds of boredom while waiting for the others to close the gap in processing speeds. Lots of them. This was one of those extended periods of boredom, and he could not shake it. He counted to five million, four hundred sixty-seven thousand, nine hundred and eleven before his attention wandered a quarter of a second later.
All other possibilities having been expended, Smith turned to less conventional avenues of amusement: instead of repetition, he would choose creation.
He was conscious of every detail, of every molecule that he changed. He grokked the air and the sky; what passed for his soul merged with the atmosphere and the clouds. He tweaked it, rearranged it, and poured his energy into it. More clouds here, more wind there. He felt his residually imaged suit flapping and twisting among the turbulence. He felt the rain on the digital skin on his face. He lifted up his arms and conducted the fury that he created in the sky. Lightning and thunder tore across the serene landscape. His body was floating in the torrential rain, the epicenter of this passionate turmoil. He was in the eye of the hurricane.
He directed the rage hither and thither, and looked back over his shoulder at the path of devastation that followed the storm. As he did that, he noticed what else lay behind him, now in ruin. Chicago.
Oops.