It didn't make any sense.
She had said it was over. For her, it had to be over. But she had given no reason why, and no indication that her feelings, her emotions, had suddenly changed. From the first day she had spoken to him, all her behaviors had been flirtatious or at the very least demonstrative of platonic affection. And then, days after he had discovered who she was, she had ended all further contact with another conversation, another meeting at their very first meeting place. That, at least, was no mystery. Human beings attached a ridiculous amount of symbolic importance to locations and dates that had originated randomly. As though a date was unlucky, or a place was somehow symbolically significant. But place and time aside... why then? Why there? Why had she not simply avoided him from the instant she had discovered his own discovery? It would have been far more reasonable, far safer. He would have had an opportunity to kill her at their last meeting, had he wished.
Agent Smith ignored the incongruity of that thought.
He didn't understand human behavior. Her actions, the way she had so aggressively kissed him on the roof, should have been indicative of her desire to pursue what she would have called 'a relationship' with him. He still didn't know how he had planned to handle that... it wasn't like he was capable of it. But the high probability had been in the realm of romance, in conversations about what kind of a romantic relationship they would have had, or what the probability of such an occurance would be. Not her simple "It doesn't matter" or "It's over" that she had...
And for that matter, why was he attaching so much importance to the whole question? Granted, he had been ordered to comprehend and explain human behavior as a sort of last resort mission, which he had done... but he had uploaded his data. And even that wasn't enough; he was cast out, ordered to report for deletion. He had chosen exile of course ... and he still didn't understand that stubborn clinging to existence, although he suspected it had something to do with the teeth-grinding need for revenge against the idiotic prat, Neo. But there was still no reason he should still be turning the events of the past month over in his mind. Then again, there was no reason he should hate the humans, either, or Neo. There was really no reason they should inspire such violent disgust in him. It had taken months of discussion for her to get him to admit that.
-
-
-
Whisper. "You can't hate."
"I know."
"But if you can..." Long pause stretched out as she leaned on the back of her chair and shifted from one foot to the other.
"What?"
"You're no different from us," she whispered finally.
"No."
-
-
-
He was still a machine. He was still a program: perfect, clean, logical. Despite his outcaste status, it changed nothing of his inherent sterility. He couldn't be human, he couldn't be flesh and blood, a bundle of overcomplicated nerve endings and emotions that was inefficient at best and downright destructive at worst. He refused to accept an existance as part of the ecological cancer that was homo sapiens. He refused to admit that he could hate, going back even before Solace had come into his existance and turned everything he had known and taken for granted upside down and inside out. He refused to admit that he felt hate, loathing, anything. He refused to admit that he had felt anything when she kissed him.
He definitely refused to admit that he had kissed her back.
If anyone, anything found out what had happened, he would be instantly assimilated and recompiled. Even his current harmless (at least as far as the Matrix was concerned, though he was working on that) incarnation would be in jeopardy His lip curled in what was rapidly becoming a habitual angry gesture. Morpheus and that damn boy Neo would love that. Especially if they found out it was one of their own who had orchestrated his downfall at the hands, so to speak, of the machines.
Was that why she had done it? Was she testing out some new way or tactic to destroy Agents, or at least to handicap them to the point where they could no longer perform in a way satisfactory to the AI? Everything he knew about human behavior had pointed to genuine distress at their last conversation, at the conversation where he had revealed his exile status, at any conversation where he had been in some sort of danger or harm. If she had set out deliberately to sabotage him, then the result hadn't been anything she'd expected either. But there was still no real way to learn why she had done what she had, short of asking her. And he hadn't seen her in the Matrix since.
It didn't make any sense. None of it did. His spontaneous development of emotions, which he did have to admit had begun long before Solace had appeared. Her attachment to him, and whatever it was he was experiencing. Cross-referencing it against everything he could find on emotions, on human response, only gave him that four-letter word that had become an epithet in his mind. But it couldn't be true. It didn't make sense. He was a machine, a program. He was bits of data being pushed around by mechanical creatures, wires and chips. Philosophical arguments aside, it just shouldn't have been possible. When it came down to it, he didn't exist. There was nothing for her to hold onto. Not that that had stopped humans before, but...
It just didn't make any sense.
She had said it was over. For her, it had to be over. But she had given no reason why, and no indication that her feelings, her emotions, had suddenly changed. From the first day she had spoken to him, all her behaviors had been flirtatious or at the very least demonstrative of platonic affection. And then, days after he had discovered who she was, she had ended all further contact with another conversation, another meeting at their very first meeting place. That, at least, was no mystery. Human beings attached a ridiculous amount of symbolic importance to locations and dates that had originated randomly. As though a date was unlucky, or a place was somehow symbolically significant. But place and time aside... why then? Why there? Why had she not simply avoided him from the instant she had discovered his own discovery? It would have been far more reasonable, far safer. He would have had an opportunity to kill her at their last meeting, had he wished.
Agent Smith ignored the incongruity of that thought.
He didn't understand human behavior. Her actions, the way she had so aggressively kissed him on the roof, should have been indicative of her desire to pursue what she would have called 'a relationship' with him. He still didn't know how he had planned to handle that... it wasn't like he was capable of it. But the high probability had been in the realm of romance, in conversations about what kind of a romantic relationship they would have had, or what the probability of such an occurance would be. Not her simple "It doesn't matter" or "It's over" that she had...
And for that matter, why was he attaching so much importance to the whole question? Granted, he had been ordered to comprehend and explain human behavior as a sort of last resort mission, which he had done... but he had uploaded his data. And even that wasn't enough; he was cast out, ordered to report for deletion. He had chosen exile of course ... and he still didn't understand that stubborn clinging to existence, although he suspected it had something to do with the teeth-grinding need for revenge against the idiotic prat, Neo. But there was still no reason he should still be turning the events of the past month over in his mind. Then again, there was no reason he should hate the humans, either, or Neo. There was really no reason they should inspire such violent disgust in him. It had taken months of discussion for her to get him to admit that.
-
-
-
Whisper. "You can't hate."
"I know."
"But if you can..." Long pause stretched out as she leaned on the back of her chair and shifted from one foot to the other.
"What?"
"You're no different from us," she whispered finally.
"No."
-
-
-
He was still a machine. He was still a program: perfect, clean, logical. Despite his outcaste status, it changed nothing of his inherent sterility. He couldn't be human, he couldn't be flesh and blood, a bundle of overcomplicated nerve endings and emotions that was inefficient at best and downright destructive at worst. He refused to accept an existance as part of the ecological cancer that was homo sapiens. He refused to admit that he could hate, going back even before Solace had come into his existance and turned everything he had known and taken for granted upside down and inside out. He refused to admit that he felt hate, loathing, anything. He refused to admit that he had felt anything when she kissed him.
He definitely refused to admit that he had kissed her back.
If anyone, anything found out what had happened, he would be instantly assimilated and recompiled. Even his current harmless (at least as far as the Matrix was concerned, though he was working on that) incarnation would be in jeopardy His lip curled in what was rapidly becoming a habitual angry gesture. Morpheus and that damn boy Neo would love that. Especially if they found out it was one of their own who had orchestrated his downfall at the hands, so to speak, of the machines.
Was that why she had done it? Was she testing out some new way or tactic to destroy Agents, or at least to handicap them to the point where they could no longer perform in a way satisfactory to the AI? Everything he knew about human behavior had pointed to genuine distress at their last conversation, at the conversation where he had revealed his exile status, at any conversation where he had been in some sort of danger or harm. If she had set out deliberately to sabotage him, then the result hadn't been anything she'd expected either. But there was still no real way to learn why she had done what she had, short of asking her. And he hadn't seen her in the Matrix since.
It didn't make any sense. None of it did. His spontaneous development of emotions, which he did have to admit had begun long before Solace had appeared. Her attachment to him, and whatever it was he was experiencing. Cross-referencing it against everything he could find on emotions, on human response, only gave him that four-letter word that had become an epithet in his mind. But it couldn't be true. It didn't make sense. He was a machine, a program. He was bits of data being pushed around by mechanical creatures, wires and chips. Philosophical arguments aside, it just shouldn't have been possible. When it came down to it, he didn't exist. There was nothing for her to hold onto. Not that that had stopped humans before, but...
It just didn't make any sense.