AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow…what a response to the last chapter!
alocin- You're still following the story, huh…What a compliment! That's dedication…
Aoden Half-Elven- Great name-excellent, another LOTR fan reading my fanfic! I hate Spongebob Squarepants too! Your comic sounds like the perfect revenge-go Smith!
Exobiologist- *winks back meaningfully*
Selina Enriquez- Hey girl! Glad to know you approved of the last chapter…^_~
Sway653- Ah, my LOTR/Matrix/Anime compatriot. Enough said, really. ^^
moonwalker-Glad you find the story interesting despite not really liking female agents…all I can say is; well, Persis isn't entirely an agent…
Thanks for the feedback,
Morithil.
NOTICE: Unfortunately, I do not own any of the original characters from the Matrix trilogy. HOWEVER: All other characters in this fanfic do belong to me, as they're all products of my overactive imagination.
12. You Weren't Invited.
Persis was spared the dilemma of wondering what to do next when the door burst open and Johnson, followed by two other agents, stood menacingly in the doorway, as if drinking in the scene before them.
Greedily.
Persis sat up on the bed and stood up near the foot of it, staring silently back at the trio in front of her. Johnson glanced towards the earpiece and its pack lying removed on the bed. His gaze switched to Smith, who by this time had also risen and was scowling at the agents in the doorway with a look that could have reduced anything combustible to a pile of ash.
The other two agents looked quizzically at the pair standing together.
"The agent has become detached from the system"
"Yes"
"It has developed emotions"
"Yes"
"It remains partly yet irrevocably-"
Johnson cut in.
"Only human"
"It has been fraternising with the rogue programme"
Smith's eyes narrowed to slits.
"You weren't invited".
Persis froze, her feet unable to move from the space of carpet beneath them. She could feel the gun in its holster snugly held against her side, and yet she was unable to move. Along with her memory, her previous fear of the sentient programmes had also resurfaced and she was rendered almost immobile.
Smith turned to her questioningly. He was unable to comprehend why she had not already drawn her weapon and attacked the agents standing in the room. She was more than able to neutralise them, this he knew. Why did she hesitate?
Johnson pulled his gun from under his jacket, the other agents imitating his movement.
Smith glowered and, throwing himself on the floor, rolled rapidly in a surprisingly graceful move across the floor, rising in front of the agents and plunging his fist deep into Johnson's torso. The upgrade shivered and twitched uncontrollably before he was engulfed in the black liquid rivulets and there were suddenly two Smiths standing, armed and ready in the small motel room.
The copy made short work of the second agent, who was being neatly dispatched via a swift succession of iron punches, which would undoubtedly be followed by a bullet in the head.
The third turned his attention to Persis.
I was one of them, she thought dazedly, I was just like them. Machines. Emotionless. She was still standing, silent with the horror of accepting what she had been, when the third agent turned his gun to Smith, who was aiding the copy in disposing of the second upgrade.
Persis jerked out of her stupor and leapt into action.
She launched herself into the air, slowing down as she reached the peak of her leap, time standing as immobile as she had been, leaving her suspended and slowly circling in mid air.
She spun quickly, her leg flying out in a sharp kick and catching the agent full in the face, sending him staggering backwards. She landed, kicking out again at his unprotected ankles, sending him down.
Persis picked him up bodily with one ruthless fist and threw him against the wall before reaching quickly, so quickly it was imperceptible, for her gun and emptying her clip with no small degree of relish into the upgrade at point black range. Green lightning crackled over him, revealing the body he had taken in the Matrix.
Persis looked away, momentarily blinded. Sparks before her eyes.
When she looked back at the human body, riddled with bullets, she swallowed a sob. She closed her eyes, and suddenly she was back in that courtyard, and peppering the helpless body of a rebel in a similar, if not identical fashion. Blood on her face. She was responsible for him, for them. For all the people she'd eliminated in the Matrix, potential rebels, targets of the resistance. Hackers. People she might have fought with in a different time and place.
She owed Zion. She owed Zion a lot of lives. She saw the faces of those she'd killed float up between her and the corpse on the floor.
She acknowledged the wave of nausea building up in her throat. Smith walked over to her, the copy already gone, vanished out into the Matrix through the open door.
"Miss Carlisle".
That much loved warmth and the promise of comfort in his voice. Persis turned dully away. She didn't deserve comfort for all she'd done. The gun in her hand dropped from her relaxed fingers. Like lightning she stooped and caught it before it hit the floor, millimetres from the carpet. She replaced the weapon in its leather holster. So like an agent.
She avoided Smith's searching look and ran to the tiny bathroom, slamming the door as she confronted her reflection in the cracked mirror. She leant on the sink, glaring at the image. Methodically she turned on the taps and moved her hands under the stream of water in a detached fashion before lifting them to her face and splashing her skin with the cool liquid. Her hands faltered and shifted over her eyes to blind her from the truth of what she had done. She'd disposed of two agents in the same way she'd coldly murdered two humans only recently. All this after mentally promising to avoid acting like the agent she had been. Persis sank to the floor in stages, curled into a ball on the cool tiles that surrounded her, crying silently as a tomb.
She had defended Smith from the upgrade. She had vowed to help Zion, and she'd defended Smith. A sentient programme, one who was intent on destroying Neo, perhaps Zion's last hope. Persis wondered what she was really defending.
He's different. He's not like the others. He's becoming more human.
But what are you becoming, Persis? she asked herself. What have you become?
********
Smith closed the useless door. It had been partly torn off its hinges and swung at a crazy angle, but it seemed only right to at least attempt to restore it to its natural position.
He paused at the bathroom door. Smith folded his hands behind his back and shifted uneasily. This was yet another new sensation. He was unsure of how to proceed. She was much affected by the fight and the acceptance of what she had done as an agent. Smith cleared his throat. He was uncertain of what he was meant to do. She had turned away before he could offer any form of comfort or reassurance. Did that mean that she was not in need of either? He doubted this. Yet, if she had needed him, surely that would negate the fact that she would tell him so?
Smith brought his hands back to his sides. Humans were so full of contradictions. Persis was riddled with them, and yet-the former agent sighed-he was not exasperated or even frustrated by her reactions. Smith realised that he had readily accepted them. That old empty feeling stirred in him again. He needed to see her, to be with Persis in order to make the emptiness go away.
He placed a steady hand on the door handle and slowly opened it.
Persis was still crouched on the floor in a foetal position, leaning against the bathtub, her arms wrapped around her knees, which were drawn up against her chin. She was looking blankly at the tiled floor. Smith closed the door behind him and stood over her slender form.
"Persis".
She winced at the name.
"Smith", her voice flat, small in the closet-like space.
The former agent swallowed. Another sensation, one that accompanied the emptiness inside him. He was unable to conclude if it was pity or sorrow. Smith made a mental note to ask her when this was over.
"You should not remain here. The surface of the floor is cold, and there is a sufficient draft present due to the uneven base of the door".
Smith noticed that the sentence sounded clinical, even to him.
"I can't live with myself, Smith".
"I am afraid that there is no alternative to doing so, Miss. Carlisle". He fell back into addressing her formally, determined to rouse her from her inertia.
Persis tried to laugh. The only sound that escaped was grim and forced through gritted teeth. Her face and hands were slightly damp and cool.
Smith crouched down until he was on eye level with her. He lifted a hand to place on her knee. Persis shook her head slowly.
"No, Smith, don't-"
He persisted, drawing closer to her and reaching for her hands. Persis fought him off, shaking her head vehemently, protesting in half formed sentences. Smith grabbing her flailing arms by the wrists and held them back, her fists clenched near either side of her head, pinned up against the side of the bath.
"Don't argue, Miss Carlisle".
Their faces so close they were very nearly touching.
Her eyes narrowed. Persis attempted to appear resolute.
"I don't need this, Smith".
He savoured the remark. He did not wish to see her like this, sounding and appearing lifeless, void of the controlled ferocity and dry wit he was familiar with. Smith seconded the statement.
"Neither do I".
He pressed his mouth to hers, revelling in the solace he found in trying to give her the same. Slowly Persis began to respond to him.
He relinquished the hold he had on her wrists as she repressed a dry sob and dived into his embrace, wrapping her arms so tightly around him in staggered, broken movements he briefly thought she might be trying to break him in two. Smith lowered his arms and, placing them gently on her hips, pulled her closer to him so he could return the action.
Smith ran his hand through her hair almost absent mindedly as he lowered his mouth to hers again. He did not need this. However, it appeared that he needed Persis.
And the feeling seemed to be mutual.