Title: This One Refused
Author: Perfect Ruin
Rating: Will not go higher than PG-13
Disclaimer: The Matrix and all their characters belong to the Wachowski Brothers and Warner Brothers. I own Kiree and any other original characters that you don't recognize.
Summary: Steps have to be taken to destroy the exiled Agent Smith.
Author Notes: Ok, I am deviating from canon. There have only been two Matrices in this fic, the perfect one that failed and the current one. This one has been operating just over a hundred years.
Word Count: 845
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The upgrades would be better, that they had always known.
The mainframe had thought for years on creating better agents. Smith's destruction had simply been the time to initiate that plan.
They were to be better than the original agents, Smith had known that, but he hadn't expected them to be better than him.
He delivered a blow to one of them; he didn't even know their names. But from what he and his clones had gathered all three names ended in 'son', how very original. At least he and his ex-co-workers had had some differentiation in their names. Smith, Brown and Jones.
Different from each other, even though the names had been chosen because they were simple and common. Smith was the most common surname in the world at the time he had been created. Smith was a common human name.
Smith the agent, however was far from common. He had been the first agent ever brought online. That had been almost a hundred years ago. He and his two co-agents had been brought online to deal with the first one. He hadn't been as much trouble as his reincarnation or whatever their damned prophecy said.
Anderson.
The One.
Thomas A. Anderson.
Who had destroyed him.
A bullet glanced by his head, the fight was turning in favor of the upgrades, it was time for an exit as only an exile can make. Pulling out his own gun he fired shot to keep his replacements at bay and ran for the nearest door.
Running was something Smith had never done before becoming an exile. That was because as an agent of the system it wasn't possible to be destroyed. At least, no agent had ever been destroyed before him. The mainframe had learnt some things that day.
Jamming his key into the door he unlocked it and stepped through. Closing it behind him, he was safe from the other agents.
He stared up the hall; he was in the backdoor hallway. An endless hallway and system of corridors of green doors and white walls. They were the escape routes and tunnels of the exiles. If he had found out about these while he had still been an agent they would have been able to free themselves of the exile menace.
Now being one of them, he needed them as much as they did.
He wondered where his clones were; it was a process he had learnt within days of waking up being away from the system. He had known what he was; he had made the choice not to be deleted. But now he was among a hunted people. He had fifteen clones at the moment; it had taken several attempts to perfect the process.
They were almost everything he was; they had his manner and his memories. His suit, sunglasses, Desert Eagle and backdoor key. But he was still unique because he was the original. He was the only one who could destroy one of his clones if he chose. The others could kill each other off if they chose – something that would approach suicide – but he was the only one who could revert a clone to the being they had once been.
Not that he would ever have a reason for doing that.
Knowing he was almost out of bullets he pulled the clip from the gun and copied the coding of the remaining few. Exiles could manipulate coding almost as well as agents or other system programs. He could copy or create anything he needed. Money, a car or a suit if his was damaged. Whatever he needed.
Except to destroy Anderson.
He hadn't caught more than a few fleeting glimpses of the rebellion's great hope since that afternoon in the hall. He seriously doubted if they even knew he was still…alive…active…online, whichever word they would choose to describe his state of being.
Night was falling and it was time for him to decide what he was going to do. Exiles, unlike system programs could sleep. Something he had done a few times when he had been bored out of his skull. He had found a suitably abandoned building. When he had first found it, there had been several other homeless people in there.
Five minutes after discovering this fact there had been three more clones of himself. They had all gone their separate ways, each choosing a different plan of action to destroy Anderson. It was odd to see different qualities of himself brought out in some clones.
He suspected it had something to do with the actual process itself, which wasn't perfect. Or maybe it was the host.
He opened a door close the old hotel and saw a candidate for another clone.
It was nighttime, raining and dark. Not a good time for people to be out by themselves. He quietly closed the door and trailed the young woman he had seen crossing the top of the alley. She was no more than twenty, and alone. It was her own fault.
Smith smirked as he silently followed her.
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Think I write Smith ok? I hope so cause he's one of the main characters.