Disclaimer: Yes yes, I don't own any of the copyright stuff! No flames,
please.
Chapter 4: Rejecting the Truth
(Begin Image)
The man looked very different when he got home. He was wearing a black suit, a black tie, a white shirt, black pants, black shiny shoes, black sunglasses and owned a very smooth looking car. He also now had a gun, and an earphone. He walked calmly up the steps and into his house.
"Daddy! Daddy!" squealed the children as they raced through the living room and towards him. They stopped in fear when they saw how their father looked.
"Dad?" Nathan asked.
"Daddy?" Katrina asked also.
His wife walked into the room. She was drying off a plate. "Smith, honey?" She looked him over. "What happened to you, Smith?"
(End Image)
Smith fell to his knees, grasping his head. He realized the truth. He was that man. That HUMAN. He found himself screaming and begging his mind to show no more, but the part he knew was coming was about to show.
(Begin Image)
Smith held up his gun, cocked it, then spoke; "You know information that no longer exists and is otherwise irrelevant." He began firing the gun, continuously.
The screams of pain and fear blared around the house, but none of them were louder than the gunshots from Smith.
(End Image)
Smith began crying. He saw the gunshots on the old walls. He curled up on the floor and began sobbing quietly.
"I killed them all . . . my family . . . right on our Anniversary . . ." he sobbed.
"Yep, it's a hard thing to accept." Said another voice.
Smith looked up to see that tall dark-skinned agent from his memories.
"Hello, Agent Smith." Said the agent.
Smith was confused to see him. "I thought you were deleted . . ."
"Yes, so do most Agents. I just chose another job." He stepped over to a hole in the wall, and cleaned out some of the dust with his finger, "You may call me Agent Wallace."
Smith turned away from him and sobbed again.
Wallace looked around the broken home. "This house . . . it's a special thing. We built this house just for you, Smith. Everyone wanted it because it was the best there ever was. You didn't just win it by chance, Smith, we let you win it so we could bend you to our will. 'Course, things got a bit complicated . . . you went and got married then had two children. This made things difficult because we knew it would be harder to separate you from them. So, Agent Brown and I waited until you were a much smarter, respected and dignified man.
Smith stared at him when he said Brown.
"Hmm? Oh, right. Does it surprise you that Brown had helped me?" Wallace asked, then he chuckled, "Well, you see . . . Brown is probably the oldest Agent out of you three. I believe he's been in about . . . oh, about 3 different versions of the Matrix. No one deleted him because he's very smart, obedient and useful. His human body, on the other hand, isn't older than you, Smith. He was about 34, just turning 35 when we turned him into an Agent. You are 43! So, when you became an Agent, you became the boss, then recruited Jones who was a well respected, funny, man. He had a good life, but that's beside the point."
Smith couldn't believe he was hearing this. He always thought Brown was the weakest agent of them all, but he was actually the best!
"'Course, after all this time, Brown is finally going on the fritz, like you. However, instead of just going and rebooting him now, I'll let him figure out his mystery." Wallace explained.
Smith sobbed again. He was thinking of the tracking device the Agents used, "I thought that bug was just a tracking device . . ."
"It is . . . but it has a better use. For example, the Zionites offer a red pill that will track a person and bring them to their side. We do the same." Wallace stared at the pitiful looking, crying Agent. "I knew you couldn't handle the truth."
Wallace looked up. "Anyway, back to the house. After awhile, the machines wanted to get rid of this house and replace it with something else. I changed their mind, because this is my place of work! I'm the Agent that reboots the others and makes sure they don't remember who or what they were." Wallace sat down on an overly dust couch.
Smith covered his eyes, "I killed my wife . . . my kids . . . all because of the Matrix."
"Hey, if it weren't for the Matrix, you and your family wouldn't even be related!" Wallace defended.
"It isn't fair, though . . . The thing that fuels me to hate humans is the rejection of memories . . . my memories . . ." Smith said between soft sobs.
Wallace relaxed for a minute. "Oh, there's a thing in the house," he got up, "Um, it's pretty much intact, I suppose." Wallace pulled open the floorboards and pulled out a case. "Here."
Smith took it and opened it. He sobbed softly again.
It was Katrina's violin. It was a bit damaged, as if someone had landed on it, or threw it. Smith sobbed quietly and knelt down again. He touched it to his brow and sighed.
Wallace stood beside Smith. "I'm at your service, m'boy."
Smith's tears landed on the violin. He couldn't believe it. They were gone because of him.
"Just . . . make them go away . . ." he sobbed softly, "Make them leave me alone . . ."
Wallace placed a hand on Smith's shoulder. "That's my job, Agent Smith, that's my job."
END STORY
A/N: What a sad, kinky, freaky story! Maybe I should write one about Agent
Brown! Or maybe Jones . . . Please R & R! No flames, please! This story is now finished, but the memory
shall live on!
Chapter 4: Rejecting the Truth
(Begin Image)
The man looked very different when he got home. He was wearing a black suit, a black tie, a white shirt, black pants, black shiny shoes, black sunglasses and owned a very smooth looking car. He also now had a gun, and an earphone. He walked calmly up the steps and into his house.
"Daddy! Daddy!" squealed the children as they raced through the living room and towards him. They stopped in fear when they saw how their father looked.
"Dad?" Nathan asked.
"Daddy?" Katrina asked also.
His wife walked into the room. She was drying off a plate. "Smith, honey?" She looked him over. "What happened to you, Smith?"
(End Image)
Smith fell to his knees, grasping his head. He realized the truth. He was that man. That HUMAN. He found himself screaming and begging his mind to show no more, but the part he knew was coming was about to show.
(Begin Image)
Smith held up his gun, cocked it, then spoke; "You know information that no longer exists and is otherwise irrelevant." He began firing the gun, continuously.
The screams of pain and fear blared around the house, but none of them were louder than the gunshots from Smith.
(End Image)
Smith began crying. He saw the gunshots on the old walls. He curled up on the floor and began sobbing quietly.
"I killed them all . . . my family . . . right on our Anniversary . . ." he sobbed.
"Yep, it's a hard thing to accept." Said another voice.
Smith looked up to see that tall dark-skinned agent from his memories.
"Hello, Agent Smith." Said the agent.
Smith was confused to see him. "I thought you were deleted . . ."
"Yes, so do most Agents. I just chose another job." He stepped over to a hole in the wall, and cleaned out some of the dust with his finger, "You may call me Agent Wallace."
Smith turned away from him and sobbed again.
Wallace looked around the broken home. "This house . . . it's a special thing. We built this house just for you, Smith. Everyone wanted it because it was the best there ever was. You didn't just win it by chance, Smith, we let you win it so we could bend you to our will. 'Course, things got a bit complicated . . . you went and got married then had two children. This made things difficult because we knew it would be harder to separate you from them. So, Agent Brown and I waited until you were a much smarter, respected and dignified man.
Smith stared at him when he said Brown.
"Hmm? Oh, right. Does it surprise you that Brown had helped me?" Wallace asked, then he chuckled, "Well, you see . . . Brown is probably the oldest Agent out of you three. I believe he's been in about . . . oh, about 3 different versions of the Matrix. No one deleted him because he's very smart, obedient and useful. His human body, on the other hand, isn't older than you, Smith. He was about 34, just turning 35 when we turned him into an Agent. You are 43! So, when you became an Agent, you became the boss, then recruited Jones who was a well respected, funny, man. He had a good life, but that's beside the point."
Smith couldn't believe he was hearing this. He always thought Brown was the weakest agent of them all, but he was actually the best!
"'Course, after all this time, Brown is finally going on the fritz, like you. However, instead of just going and rebooting him now, I'll let him figure out his mystery." Wallace explained.
Smith sobbed again. He was thinking of the tracking device the Agents used, "I thought that bug was just a tracking device . . ."
"It is . . . but it has a better use. For example, the Zionites offer a red pill that will track a person and bring them to their side. We do the same." Wallace stared at the pitiful looking, crying Agent. "I knew you couldn't handle the truth."
Wallace looked up. "Anyway, back to the house. After awhile, the machines wanted to get rid of this house and replace it with something else. I changed their mind, because this is my place of work! I'm the Agent that reboots the others and makes sure they don't remember who or what they were." Wallace sat down on an overly dust couch.
Smith covered his eyes, "I killed my wife . . . my kids . . . all because of the Matrix."
"Hey, if it weren't for the Matrix, you and your family wouldn't even be related!" Wallace defended.
"It isn't fair, though . . . The thing that fuels me to hate humans is the rejection of memories . . . my memories . . ." Smith said between soft sobs.
Wallace relaxed for a minute. "Oh, there's a thing in the house," he got up, "Um, it's pretty much intact, I suppose." Wallace pulled open the floorboards and pulled out a case. "Here."
Smith took it and opened it. He sobbed softly again.
It was Katrina's violin. It was a bit damaged, as if someone had landed on it, or threw it. Smith sobbed quietly and knelt down again. He touched it to his brow and sighed.
Wallace stood beside Smith. "I'm at your service, m'boy."
Smith's tears landed on the violin. He couldn't believe it. They were gone because of him.
"Just . . . make them go away . . ." he sobbed softly, "Make them leave me alone . . ."
Wallace placed a hand on Smith's shoulder. "That's my job, Agent Smith, that's my job."
END STORY
A/N: What a sad, kinky, freaky story! Maybe I should write one about Agent
Brown! Or maybe Jones . . . Please R & R! No flames, please! This story is now finished, but the memory
shall live on!