A/N: Like Smith, I realized once I had gotten to this point that I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with this scene. I had mixed feelings about it once I typed it all up… it's about as good as I could get it. So, depending on reader reviews, I may just rewrite this entire scene differently, or I may leave it and move on in the direction it seems to be taking me. We'll see.
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Agent Smith stared up at the monolithic building with absolutely no expression on his face and a feeling inside of dread, curiosity, and confusion. All the events that had led up to his arrival here at the foot of the skyscraper had gone by so quickly, leaving him tossed about in their wake and feeling about as out of his element as a landed fish. Everything was overwhelming his thought processes… Solace, his exile, the suggestion and later the appointment with the enigmatical and ancient program, the very concepts that the program embodied which had later been written out of the Matrix AIs entirely… He couldn't think what he was doing here, couldn't think of any logical reason behind his behavior lately… and that made him almost afraid.
The fear was compounded by the sense of relief, too. Over the last month and a half he had experienced so many new emotions, flowing in on the tails of the anger and hatred he had always seemed to feel for the humans. The disturbing words of the human woman had somehow opened up his awareness, made him think, made him wonder if he was perhaps not more flawed than he had thought. She had been right, that hate was a human emotion and therefore subject to the vagaries that governed them, and moreso that hate was a high indicator of the presence of other strong emotions. The knowledge, made more conscious now by the thinking of it all, had sprung open the floodgates and released wonder, curiosity, fear, envy, anxiety, contentment… other, softer feelings he didn't dare name or examine too closely.
And then the relief was there because it was fear, it was trepidation as opposed to hope, wariness as opposed to ease. Smith welcomed the fear, sharpened it, honed it, drove it deeper in an attempt to remove the gentler emotions he knew were creeping up on him. Fear, hatred, anger made him dangerous. But… that… that one made him weak.
When he thought he was ready he straightened his cuffs in an almost habitual gesture, shook himself slightly, and walked on in. The security personnel at the door ignored him, and he them, both of them knowing who he was and why he was there. If Smith was going to present a threat to those eminent personalities within, he certainly wasn't going to stroll in bold as brass and carry out whatever plans he might have that way. He rode the elevator up, was greeted by the maitre'd, and ushered into La Verite.
It was, as usual, a palatial expanse of decadence and impropriety. Smith's upper lip curled into a sneer before he could stop himself. To stall for time he looked around the room a little while he smoothed his face into a blank, inoffensive expression. Nothing changed. It was still an outlet for some of the basest human impulses, however refined and cultured they might be.
It didn't matter. It wasn't what he had come here for. He walked through the crowd to the head table and nodded his respects to the man sitting there.
"Agent Smith." Except it came out more like Eh-gent Zmeeth. He hated the effete pseudo-Frenchman.
"Merovingian."
The AI nodded, appropriate respects made and accepted, and gestured to the left-hand corner. "They are waiting for you."
Smith nodded again and moved over to the program… programs, really, although it was hard to tell whether to use the singular or the plural when dealing with them. They looked up as he approached and smiled identical thin-lipped, snake-like grins.
"We've been expecting you," one said, his voice soft and subtle and matching the sensual opulence of the restaurant. What, Smith found himself thinking, would Solace have thought of these? Any human woman would fall over herself to please and pleasure these two manifestations.
He shoved the thoughts away. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"
"Of course."
They stood in unison and led the way out, down the hall, up a set of marble stairs that looked as though they would have hosted a debutante ball. The floor above seemed to be devoted entirely to two lavish apartments, one of which belonged to the Twins. Smith wondered to whom the other belonged.
They took their seats on opposite ends of a chaise couch, lounging like eighteenth century dilettantes. Smith took his seat in a chair facing them, leaning forward ever so slightly, not at all at ease with his surroundings.
""The Merovingian told us that you were looking to speak with us, but he did not tell us why…"
Now that he was here it seemed so trivial. "I am… exploring the options available to me in my current situation," he started. At least that made him sound a little more independent, more powerful. More certain. Fury rose in him, and a desire to kill the upstart Resistance boy who had driven him to this.
"You want to know what it is that makes us successful exiles, as opposed to obsolete and deleted programs?"
"I want…" He hated Solace for suggesting it, Neo for necessitating it, and himself for going along with the whole damn idea. "Advice."
They tittered. It was a grating sound to the Agent's ears. "Advice? You want advice? The Agent… excuse me, former Agent, wants advice."
"We are very amused."
"Yes, we are."
They were like the worst manifestation of eighteenth century French homosexual fops. In trenchcoats, dreadlocks, and sunglasses. And to think he was in some way related to or connected with them. "Do you have any to give, or are you going to sit there and titter like a school girl?" he snapped, feeling even more foolish for doing so. At least it stopped them from smiling.
"We have no advice for you. There is no advice for anyone in your particular situation."
It was both what he had wanted to hear and what he had been dreading, because it ended the interview and because it meant that he was totally, completely alone. He had never been alone since he was created, there was always the knowledge of other Agents, backup, the Mainframe there behind him to sustain his movements and assignments.
"Because I am an Agent, or because of my encounter with Neo?" He had to ask. He had to know.
"Because you were an Agent, and now you are something different. Your encounter with the human who calls himself Neo has rewritten you, and you must resign yourself to that fate…"
"… you must accustom yourself to that fact."
They spoke overtop of each other on the last sentence, and Smith had to work for a couple of seconds to figure out what each fragment had really said. Damn the program… programs. He couldn't tell them apart.
"What changes are you talking about?"
"You are erratic.."
'…fragmented…"
"…and you react as an individual program, rather than part of a unit. You must survive as an individual program, or you will be deleted."
Was it a trick of the code or had the Twins said those last few words with a particular relish? They probably had. They were sadistic bastards at best, and Smith was in a decidedly inferior position to them. He flushed despite his best efforts at remaining calm, scowling, too aware of his situation and unable to think of anything he could do to change it.
"Then, if there is nothing else you can tell me…" he stood. "I will be going."
For the first time he understood the meaning behind the human expression 'his ears were burning' as he listened to their murmured comments, made solely for his benefit, he was sure. They were linked tightly enough, their minds and wills entwined, that they didn't need to speak aloud unless they wanted to. And now that he was leaving the building, humiliated and no closer to a solution than he had been when he entered, they wanted to drive the knife that much deeper. Bastards. Unmitigated, unparalleled bastards, Solace said inside his mind. He shoved the phrase away, angry at her as well.
He had been mistaken, and she had been so very wrong. There was nothing to be learned from the Twins, former enforcer programs that had simply moved their allegiances upon being rendered obsolete. Their tangent functions, search and destroy (Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Solace would have called them, judging by her reaction to a similar pair in obscure human literature… damn her, why wouldn't she leave him alone?) had been combined into one to make the program that now functioned as the Agents. And none of that knowledge helped him in the slightest.
He wasn't sure which was more aggravating, his humiliation, the utter futility of it all, or their twin smirks as they had watched him flounder about for words. In stereo, Solace would have said. That terrible sense of aloneness struck him again as he thought of them moving in stereo, in tandem, and how he would never again be united in that perfect formation of working with the other Agent programs again. The tripod formation for stability when they hunted the humans, the two companions sharing a task he would never again be a part of. It grated on his mind almost more than the utter uselessness of his existence.
And the visit to the Twins had only served to exacerbate the problem. Angry and dejected, Smith straightened his shoulders into a back-locking position, laced through with tension that would surely have snapped a human's spinal column. He set his feet to the pavement and began walking, somewhere, anywhere, away from the damn building. After a little while he realized he was walking towards Solace's apartments. Was that really such a good idea… never mind. It was the only idea he had at the moment.
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Agent Smith stared up at the monolithic building with absolutely no expression on his face and a feeling inside of dread, curiosity, and confusion. All the events that had led up to his arrival here at the foot of the skyscraper had gone by so quickly, leaving him tossed about in their wake and feeling about as out of his element as a landed fish. Everything was overwhelming his thought processes… Solace, his exile, the suggestion and later the appointment with the enigmatical and ancient program, the very concepts that the program embodied which had later been written out of the Matrix AIs entirely… He couldn't think what he was doing here, couldn't think of any logical reason behind his behavior lately… and that made him almost afraid.
The fear was compounded by the sense of relief, too. Over the last month and a half he had experienced so many new emotions, flowing in on the tails of the anger and hatred he had always seemed to feel for the humans. The disturbing words of the human woman had somehow opened up his awareness, made him think, made him wonder if he was perhaps not more flawed than he had thought. She had been right, that hate was a human emotion and therefore subject to the vagaries that governed them, and moreso that hate was a high indicator of the presence of other strong emotions. The knowledge, made more conscious now by the thinking of it all, had sprung open the floodgates and released wonder, curiosity, fear, envy, anxiety, contentment… other, softer feelings he didn't dare name or examine too closely.
And then the relief was there because it was fear, it was trepidation as opposed to hope, wariness as opposed to ease. Smith welcomed the fear, sharpened it, honed it, drove it deeper in an attempt to remove the gentler emotions he knew were creeping up on him. Fear, hatred, anger made him dangerous. But… that… that one made him weak.
When he thought he was ready he straightened his cuffs in an almost habitual gesture, shook himself slightly, and walked on in. The security personnel at the door ignored him, and he them, both of them knowing who he was and why he was there. If Smith was going to present a threat to those eminent personalities within, he certainly wasn't going to stroll in bold as brass and carry out whatever plans he might have that way. He rode the elevator up, was greeted by the maitre'd, and ushered into La Verite.
It was, as usual, a palatial expanse of decadence and impropriety. Smith's upper lip curled into a sneer before he could stop himself. To stall for time he looked around the room a little while he smoothed his face into a blank, inoffensive expression. Nothing changed. It was still an outlet for some of the basest human impulses, however refined and cultured they might be.
It didn't matter. It wasn't what he had come here for. He walked through the crowd to the head table and nodded his respects to the man sitting there.
"Agent Smith." Except it came out more like Eh-gent Zmeeth. He hated the effete pseudo-Frenchman.
"Merovingian."
The AI nodded, appropriate respects made and accepted, and gestured to the left-hand corner. "They are waiting for you."
Smith nodded again and moved over to the program… programs, really, although it was hard to tell whether to use the singular or the plural when dealing with them. They looked up as he approached and smiled identical thin-lipped, snake-like grins.
"We've been expecting you," one said, his voice soft and subtle and matching the sensual opulence of the restaurant. What, Smith found himself thinking, would Solace have thought of these? Any human woman would fall over herself to please and pleasure these two manifestations.
He shoved the thoughts away. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"
"Of course."
They stood in unison and led the way out, down the hall, up a set of marble stairs that looked as though they would have hosted a debutante ball. The floor above seemed to be devoted entirely to two lavish apartments, one of which belonged to the Twins. Smith wondered to whom the other belonged.
They took their seats on opposite ends of a chaise couch, lounging like eighteenth century dilettantes. Smith took his seat in a chair facing them, leaning forward ever so slightly, not at all at ease with his surroundings.
""The Merovingian told us that you were looking to speak with us, but he did not tell us why…"
Now that he was here it seemed so trivial. "I am… exploring the options available to me in my current situation," he started. At least that made him sound a little more independent, more powerful. More certain. Fury rose in him, and a desire to kill the upstart Resistance boy who had driven him to this.
"You want to know what it is that makes us successful exiles, as opposed to obsolete and deleted programs?"
"I want…" He hated Solace for suggesting it, Neo for necessitating it, and himself for going along with the whole damn idea. "Advice."
They tittered. It was a grating sound to the Agent's ears. "Advice? You want advice? The Agent… excuse me, former Agent, wants advice."
"We are very amused."
"Yes, we are."
They were like the worst manifestation of eighteenth century French homosexual fops. In trenchcoats, dreadlocks, and sunglasses. And to think he was in some way related to or connected with them. "Do you have any to give, or are you going to sit there and titter like a school girl?" he snapped, feeling even more foolish for doing so. At least it stopped them from smiling.
"We have no advice for you. There is no advice for anyone in your particular situation."
It was both what he had wanted to hear and what he had been dreading, because it ended the interview and because it meant that he was totally, completely alone. He had never been alone since he was created, there was always the knowledge of other Agents, backup, the Mainframe there behind him to sustain his movements and assignments.
"Because I am an Agent, or because of my encounter with Neo?" He had to ask. He had to know.
"Because you were an Agent, and now you are something different. Your encounter with the human who calls himself Neo has rewritten you, and you must resign yourself to that fate…"
"… you must accustom yourself to that fact."
They spoke overtop of each other on the last sentence, and Smith had to work for a couple of seconds to figure out what each fragment had really said. Damn the program… programs. He couldn't tell them apart.
"What changes are you talking about?"
"You are erratic.."
'…fragmented…"
"…and you react as an individual program, rather than part of a unit. You must survive as an individual program, or you will be deleted."
Was it a trick of the code or had the Twins said those last few words with a particular relish? They probably had. They were sadistic bastards at best, and Smith was in a decidedly inferior position to them. He flushed despite his best efforts at remaining calm, scowling, too aware of his situation and unable to think of anything he could do to change it.
"Then, if there is nothing else you can tell me…" he stood. "I will be going."
For the first time he understood the meaning behind the human expression 'his ears were burning' as he listened to their murmured comments, made solely for his benefit, he was sure. They were linked tightly enough, their minds and wills entwined, that they didn't need to speak aloud unless they wanted to. And now that he was leaving the building, humiliated and no closer to a solution than he had been when he entered, they wanted to drive the knife that much deeper. Bastards. Unmitigated, unparalleled bastards, Solace said inside his mind. He shoved the phrase away, angry at her as well.
He had been mistaken, and she had been so very wrong. There was nothing to be learned from the Twins, former enforcer programs that had simply moved their allegiances upon being rendered obsolete. Their tangent functions, search and destroy (Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Solace would have called them, judging by her reaction to a similar pair in obscure human literature… damn her, why wouldn't she leave him alone?) had been combined into one to make the program that now functioned as the Agents. And none of that knowledge helped him in the slightest.
He wasn't sure which was more aggravating, his humiliation, the utter futility of it all, or their twin smirks as they had watched him flounder about for words. In stereo, Solace would have said. That terrible sense of aloneness struck him again as he thought of them moving in stereo, in tandem, and how he would never again be united in that perfect formation of working with the other Agent programs again. The tripod formation for stability when they hunted the humans, the two companions sharing a task he would never again be a part of. It grated on his mind almost more than the utter uselessness of his existence.
And the visit to the Twins had only served to exacerbate the problem. Angry and dejected, Smith straightened his shoulders into a back-locking position, laced through with tension that would surely have snapped a human's spinal column. He set his feet to the pavement and began walking, somewhere, anywhere, away from the damn building. After a little while he realized he was walking towards Solace's apartments. Was that really such a good idea… never mind. It was the only idea he had at the moment.