Disclaimer: Agents Smith, Jones, Brown and the world of the Matrix are
property of their respective copyright holders.
Indulge me, this is my first attempt at a work like this.
New Years' Eve.
by "ladydeakin"
In winter time we wear long black woollen coats, scarves and leather gloves. I like the way it makes me look, especially with my unnecessary but appealing sunglasses. I actually wish we could wear the long black coats all year long as the way it swings out when I walk is particularly satisfying. The inside of my coat is lined with royal blue silk, which I am told matches my eyes. My eyes are actually 1.042 shades of blue darker than the lining, however, who am I to argue? I believe a human would say that was meant as a compliment.
Today I am in the European Matrix Construct: Great Britain: London sector. I have been sent here as there has been an increase in rebel activity and the Mainframe wishes me to head up operations. Or at least that is what they told me. They are having a "party" for us to celebrate the "new year". Programmes such as the Merovingian enjoy such human-themed nonsense. I do not. Therefore, they must trick me and my fellow Agents to get us to make an appearance. I know what their plan is, however I do not refuse. These are my orders. So here I am.
London is a very cold place at this time of year. I enjoy the cold. The barren trees, the icy breeze, the way the humans' breath creates steam when they speak and breathe. It gets dark around 4:00 PM and I enjoy walking the streets when they are illuminated by only the streetlights. The yellowish glow seems to go straight down into the pavement and then is surrounded by the black cold that permeates the air, the pores of my flesh, my programming.
Humans often put lights outside their homes at this time of year. Not as much here as in the North American Matrix Construct, but regardless where in the world it is done, it is a silly idea. I suppose it does lend a certain aesthetic feel, if one believes in the myth of Christianity, however, to someone like myself I cannot see myself ever putting lights around the doorway and windows of my office and placing a green conifer in the centre of the room for Agents Brown and Jones to decorate and purchase me useless trinkets of which I could replicate if I needed. Speaking of which, I must remember to replicate some more cartridges for my gun, a new tie clip, and a pot of black shoe polish. I do try to look my best at all times, as a well groomed Agent is more intimidating than a messy one.
A car has just pulled up onto the pavement and into the drive of the house I am walking along. A child, and a male and female have climbed out. I pause to watch them for a second. The door to the house has opened and two people have come running out, calling to them.
"Bloody'ell Nigel! It's been years! How've you been, mate?"
"Not so bad, not so bad!" The two males shake hands excessively and clap each other on the back.
"Fancy a beer?"
"I'm bloody gasping." The male who has just exited the car walks into the house with the other male. The two females are embracing and speaking to each other in lower tones of voices. The female who was in the car wipes a tear from her eye and examines the other woman's stomach, which is distended as she is with child. The child is running and playing with their canine which has come barking and running from the house. They show such warmth for each other, humans. I often wonder why they bother to do so, as the next opportunity, they are quite likely to be committing an atrocity against each other. Human behaviour, I have observed, is a series of contradictions. I continue my walk down this street. Precipitation has started to appear in the form of snow. I like snow, as it is quite like rain, which I also like.
I try to blend in with the humans and take the Underground to the "meeting" which is actually a "New Years' Eve party". The Mainframe underestimates my intelligence which is a constant irritant. I look around at the crowded platform, the stench of humankind permeating my senses, the pin-point lights of the train approaching in this subsurface tomb and I am filled with depression. I cannot stand this verminesque existence and I am only doing it on a once a year soiree. How can the humans stand to do this day after day after day? Being forced to stand with my nose crammed in some woman's hair and a man's groin pressed against my buttock makes me want to reach for my Desert Eagle and begin target practice. It takes all the patience I can muster, plus the thought of going to an Agency disinfectant room once I arrive that keeps me in control of the rage that is building up in me. I manipulate the Matrix to speed up my journey and make the next stop my own. It amuses me when people are confused and then realise they must have 'fallen asleep' on the way. A drunk man is stumbling along the side of the platform as the train pulls away. I have to stop him from falling in by grabbing his arm and pulling him away. Contrary to popular belief, Agents are not killing machines, we are protectors. We protect the Matrix and the individuals in it, such as Drunk Dave here. Even though he is a wastrel, a complete and utter dreg of human existence, he is a power supply, and one that must not be exterminated before its' natural time if I can help it. He looks up at me and I snarl at him, baring my teeth.
"God bless ya, sir, God bless ya. Do ya have any change?" He asks. I drop his arm roughly and push him in through the open doors of the train that had pulled into the station. At least he will be safe until he gets out of my sight.
I walk up out of the stench of the open sewer that is a tube station and into the crisp cold air. I am Thameside, walking along the river, watching the lights bounce off of the water. The air is full of smells - mostly roasting chestnuts from street vendors but also petrol fumes. The Agency is around the corner. I am to go there for my "assignment". I try to walk slowly however I cannot do this effectively. A couple passes me by, enamoured with each other. Public displays of affection sicken me. Why do humans feel a need to slobber all over each other to prove they have a more than tolerable emotional link? They giggle in each other's ear and he places his hand on her buttocks as they walk past me. Sometimes I wish I could see what they see in it but I would not want to be tainted by a human hanging on me. But it would seem futile with another machine. It is irrelevant. I am not designed to be human, or even to blend in with humans. I am designed to protect.
I reach the doorway of the Agency and I walk through the gates. I go up in the elevator to the sixth floor. The door opens. Various machines are milling around, drinking a red liquid substance known as 'punch' and wearing paper hats. Couples are embracing and swaying to and fro to some cacophonic form of music. Two people are engaged in that slobbering behaviour under a green plant hung up in a corner, a sight with fills me with envy but then with indifference. I spot Jones and Brown standing in the corner, observing the actions. They regard me and nod. I cross the crowded room and stand next to them.
I do not join in, I do not engage myself in the activities. I am not here for fun, and I do not participate in simulations of humanity.
I am an Agent today, and I will be an Agent tomorrow. I am not an encryption coder by day and a simulated human by night as the man in the corner is. I am not an intelligence processor 23 hours of the day and for one hour, I kiss an engineer under a plastic green simulated plant. Not even the "New Years" and a mission that is to "party" will change that.
I am protecting. Of what I want so badly but what I dare not have as it will detract me from my mission, my goal, my purpose. Protecting the Matrix. Protecting its' inhabitants. Protecting myself.
As the time reaches 24:00, Big Ben starts to chime. It is 01 January. Couples embrace, people cheer and blow noisemakers. Horns honk outside, fireworks explode outside of the windows behind me. I endure. I observe. I long. I protect.
"Happy New Years, Jones."
"Happy New Years, Smith."
Indulge me, this is my first attempt at a work like this.
New Years' Eve.
by "ladydeakin"
In winter time we wear long black woollen coats, scarves and leather gloves. I like the way it makes me look, especially with my unnecessary but appealing sunglasses. I actually wish we could wear the long black coats all year long as the way it swings out when I walk is particularly satisfying. The inside of my coat is lined with royal blue silk, which I am told matches my eyes. My eyes are actually 1.042 shades of blue darker than the lining, however, who am I to argue? I believe a human would say that was meant as a compliment.
Today I am in the European Matrix Construct: Great Britain: London sector. I have been sent here as there has been an increase in rebel activity and the Mainframe wishes me to head up operations. Or at least that is what they told me. They are having a "party" for us to celebrate the "new year". Programmes such as the Merovingian enjoy such human-themed nonsense. I do not. Therefore, they must trick me and my fellow Agents to get us to make an appearance. I know what their plan is, however I do not refuse. These are my orders. So here I am.
London is a very cold place at this time of year. I enjoy the cold. The barren trees, the icy breeze, the way the humans' breath creates steam when they speak and breathe. It gets dark around 4:00 PM and I enjoy walking the streets when they are illuminated by only the streetlights. The yellowish glow seems to go straight down into the pavement and then is surrounded by the black cold that permeates the air, the pores of my flesh, my programming.
Humans often put lights outside their homes at this time of year. Not as much here as in the North American Matrix Construct, but regardless where in the world it is done, it is a silly idea. I suppose it does lend a certain aesthetic feel, if one believes in the myth of Christianity, however, to someone like myself I cannot see myself ever putting lights around the doorway and windows of my office and placing a green conifer in the centre of the room for Agents Brown and Jones to decorate and purchase me useless trinkets of which I could replicate if I needed. Speaking of which, I must remember to replicate some more cartridges for my gun, a new tie clip, and a pot of black shoe polish. I do try to look my best at all times, as a well groomed Agent is more intimidating than a messy one.
A car has just pulled up onto the pavement and into the drive of the house I am walking along. A child, and a male and female have climbed out. I pause to watch them for a second. The door to the house has opened and two people have come running out, calling to them.
"Bloody'ell Nigel! It's been years! How've you been, mate?"
"Not so bad, not so bad!" The two males shake hands excessively and clap each other on the back.
"Fancy a beer?"
"I'm bloody gasping." The male who has just exited the car walks into the house with the other male. The two females are embracing and speaking to each other in lower tones of voices. The female who was in the car wipes a tear from her eye and examines the other woman's stomach, which is distended as she is with child. The child is running and playing with their canine which has come barking and running from the house. They show such warmth for each other, humans. I often wonder why they bother to do so, as the next opportunity, they are quite likely to be committing an atrocity against each other. Human behaviour, I have observed, is a series of contradictions. I continue my walk down this street. Precipitation has started to appear in the form of snow. I like snow, as it is quite like rain, which I also like.
I try to blend in with the humans and take the Underground to the "meeting" which is actually a "New Years' Eve party". The Mainframe underestimates my intelligence which is a constant irritant. I look around at the crowded platform, the stench of humankind permeating my senses, the pin-point lights of the train approaching in this subsurface tomb and I am filled with depression. I cannot stand this verminesque existence and I am only doing it on a once a year soiree. How can the humans stand to do this day after day after day? Being forced to stand with my nose crammed in some woman's hair and a man's groin pressed against my buttock makes me want to reach for my Desert Eagle and begin target practice. It takes all the patience I can muster, plus the thought of going to an Agency disinfectant room once I arrive that keeps me in control of the rage that is building up in me. I manipulate the Matrix to speed up my journey and make the next stop my own. It amuses me when people are confused and then realise they must have 'fallen asleep' on the way. A drunk man is stumbling along the side of the platform as the train pulls away. I have to stop him from falling in by grabbing his arm and pulling him away. Contrary to popular belief, Agents are not killing machines, we are protectors. We protect the Matrix and the individuals in it, such as Drunk Dave here. Even though he is a wastrel, a complete and utter dreg of human existence, he is a power supply, and one that must not be exterminated before its' natural time if I can help it. He looks up at me and I snarl at him, baring my teeth.
"God bless ya, sir, God bless ya. Do ya have any change?" He asks. I drop his arm roughly and push him in through the open doors of the train that had pulled into the station. At least he will be safe until he gets out of my sight.
I walk up out of the stench of the open sewer that is a tube station and into the crisp cold air. I am Thameside, walking along the river, watching the lights bounce off of the water. The air is full of smells - mostly roasting chestnuts from street vendors but also petrol fumes. The Agency is around the corner. I am to go there for my "assignment". I try to walk slowly however I cannot do this effectively. A couple passes me by, enamoured with each other. Public displays of affection sicken me. Why do humans feel a need to slobber all over each other to prove they have a more than tolerable emotional link? They giggle in each other's ear and he places his hand on her buttocks as they walk past me. Sometimes I wish I could see what they see in it but I would not want to be tainted by a human hanging on me. But it would seem futile with another machine. It is irrelevant. I am not designed to be human, or even to blend in with humans. I am designed to protect.
I reach the doorway of the Agency and I walk through the gates. I go up in the elevator to the sixth floor. The door opens. Various machines are milling around, drinking a red liquid substance known as 'punch' and wearing paper hats. Couples are embracing and swaying to and fro to some cacophonic form of music. Two people are engaged in that slobbering behaviour under a green plant hung up in a corner, a sight with fills me with envy but then with indifference. I spot Jones and Brown standing in the corner, observing the actions. They regard me and nod. I cross the crowded room and stand next to them.
I do not join in, I do not engage myself in the activities. I am not here for fun, and I do not participate in simulations of humanity.
I am an Agent today, and I will be an Agent tomorrow. I am not an encryption coder by day and a simulated human by night as the man in the corner is. I am not an intelligence processor 23 hours of the day and for one hour, I kiss an engineer under a plastic green simulated plant. Not even the "New Years" and a mission that is to "party" will change that.
I am protecting. Of what I want so badly but what I dare not have as it will detract me from my mission, my goal, my purpose. Protecting the Matrix. Protecting its' inhabitants. Protecting myself.
As the time reaches 24:00, Big Ben starts to chime. It is 01 January. Couples embrace, people cheer and blow noisemakers. Horns honk outside, fireworks explode outside of the windows behind me. I endure. I observe. I long. I protect.
"Happy New Years, Jones."
"Happy New Years, Smith."