Remember?
"Where are we going?" Brown asked.
"The only place I can think of."
Brown followed Jones without any question. He didn't really know how to question yet. They walked slowly up some stairs. This place was abandon. A building with cracked walls, and leaking pipes. It was something new for them. Yet neither complained, they didn't have much of a choice in the matter.
Brown wasn't second guessing his decision of Exile. He was only beginning to fear what they would do now. They had no purpose. They didn't know anything on human life. They only killed them. They still had their guns under their jacket. And soon the Mainframe would realize they are not coming, and they'll send other Agents after them.
Brown raised his head, and the stairs ended. Jones went ahead of him, down a hall. Brown got to the end of the hallway, and froze.
"Jones. . ." He whispered.
Jones stared at Brown at the end of the hallway.
"It was all I could think of." Jones explained.
There Brown stood. Stood exactly like before, when he watched Smith kill Mr. Anderson. This was the hallway in which Thomas A. Anderson died, and the anomaly was born. Where their troubles began. This is the place where Smith was killed. Where Smith was changed.
Brown could remember the look on Smith's face. It gave him shudders. That face of fear. That face of no control. He couldn't stop it. And Brown knew he couldn't either. That was the first time fear was felt by the two other Agents. That was when they ran.
Brown didn't like this place. Something about it. The memories.
That human should have died. That human was dead. . . Eight bullets to the chest. Eight bullets. How could he live? How could he have killed Smith?
Jones turned away, and walked into room 303. Brown only stood there. Perhaps too scared to walk forth. It took him minutes before he joined Jones in that room.
The Matrix sun was beginning to rise. It would be morning soon. Jones stared at the window, and watched the world. He stood unmoving, and unfazed. Brown crept into the room, and joined Jones. Brown stood there uneasily. He slightly turned his head.
"The blood is still there." Brown said.
Jones turned to him, and Brown looked outside the room.
The wall was still stained with Mr. Anderson's blood. It was sprayed all over the wall from the gunshots, and smeared down as he fell to the floor. The blood was still there. Almost like a sign, still saying Mr. Anderson was alive, and there was nothing they could do about it.
Jones didn't look at the blood, and stared only at Brown.
"I know." Jones replied.
Jones didn't say anything else, as he turned his gaze back to the window. Brown looked up at Jones. Jones didn't seem fazed, and it made him feel a little weak. Brown looked down, and slowly walked closer to the wall. He stepped cautiously. Slowly, closer and closer to the blood of the anomaly.
He bent down to it, and analyzed it. Emotions erupted that he didn't understand, as he tilted his head. He slowly touched it, feeling it, making sure it wasn't fresh. Making sure this happened long ago. He looked down at his fingers, and rubbed them together. The blood of the human that started this.
Brown didn't understand this feeling he got from the blood, but he suddenly found himself remembering running away from Mr. Anderson.
He didn't move, he stood straight still staring at his fingers, as if the blood would change him.
"Do you remember?" Brown asked.
Jones moved his head towards him.
Brown didn't move, and behind his shades, his blue eyes moved trying to remember something he tried to forget.
"Remember what?" Jones finally said.
Brown still searched his memory. He knew it was there. He knew it happened. Long ago. Long, long ago.
"Remember when we first met each other?" Brown finally said.
Jones tilted his head. That was a very strange thing to talk about, at least for Agents. They only remembered when it was needed. He was wondering about Brown. Why he was like this. . .
Brown turned to Jones, and walked up to him.
"Remember when we were created? When we first heard each other?" Brown continued.
Jones didn't understand Brown. What was wrong with him?
"Why should we discuss this?" Jones asked.
Brown looked surprised for a moment, and realized it was a strange thing to talk about. He looked down, and away from Jones.
"Well, do you?" Brown asked again.
Jones stared at him.
"We aren't Agents anymore. . ." Brown explained.
Jones sighed, being reminded of their reality. Brown looked up at him still, and Jones slowly nodded.
"Do you remember what I said? I don't. . ." Brown said, shaking his head.
Brown joined in Jones's staring on the city they knew. The city they chased in, hunted in.
Jones seemed annoyed with the questions, but answered anyway. He sighed angrily.
"You said, 'I am Agent Brown.'" Jones said.
Brown tilted his head, trying to remember that.
"How did you respond?" Brown asked.
"You were the only that spoke, Brown."
"I was?" Brown asked, surprised.
Jones turned his head to the fellow ex-Agent. Jones was surprised at him.
"Yes, Smith and I only nodded." Jones said.
Brown nodded, and stayed silent, staring at the setting sun. Jones tilted his head at the sun. He found it almost like an omen. A message. The sun was setting, and so were they.
"You know you are the youngest." Jones said.
Caught in the memory files of their "birth" their creation, Jones found himself searching things. Things he had never thought about. Brown looked up at him, surprised. Brown almost smiled, Jones was accepting their decision.
"I am?" Brown asked.
Jones nodded.
"Smith was created, then I 2.4 seconds after him. Then you, 1.7 seconds after me." Jones said.
Brown turned back to the window, and smirked.
"Smith is the oldest." Brown said.
"Indeed. . . He is."
It was a strange thing. Their leader was their elder. He always did seem more advanced. Always. . . He was after all, the one that interrogated. Perhaps he knew more about humans than Brown thought.
"Do you remember are first mission?" Brown asked.
Jones nodded.
Brown fell a little silent.
"Smith killed that person." Brown said.
"Mr. Andrews." Jones added.
Brown glanced up at Jones.
"Smith killed him. . . Do you remember what Smith looked like after that?" Brown asked, quietly.
Jones shot his head up. The two didn't speak for a long time. Remembering that night, remembering Smith smiling as his gun was fired, and the blood of the human dripped onto the ground.
"We should have done something." Brown said.
"How could we have known?" Jones said.
"You and I saw it. . . He enjoyed it. . . I think."
"He did."
"We should of done something a long time ago."
"You asked him once what he was doing. . . He disconnected from us, you were the only one that asked. We should have gotten him defragmented."
"They would have deleted him!"
"Smith? No, not Smith. They would have rebooted him. Repaired him. They would not delete him. He was the best."
Brown fell silent. Could they have saved Smith? If they had done something, would he still be there with them? Would there be any need for upgrades if Smith were still there?
Brown, fell to the ground, and sat against the wall. He shook his head, asking questions. . . What if. . .? He took of his sunglasses, and put them in his jacket pocket. Jones stared down at him.
And now darkness. Night fell, the world through sunglasses was hard to see, and Jones took off his sunglasses as well. Revealing his brown eyes. He sighed, and walked to join Brown on the floor.
"Give me your gun." Jones said.
Brown looked up at him, and slowly took out his Desert Eagle. He handed it to Jones, who took out his.
Brown watched as Jones looked closely at the guns.
"What are you doing?" Brown asked.
"I'm checking our guns, analyzing them. . . Upgrading them. . ." Jones explained, taking out a clip of bullets.
"Why?"
"The Agents will come for us. We must be prepared. They will be able to dodge bullets, perhaps faster than us, we must make these bullets count."
Brown nodded, and banged his head against the wall.
"Do you have anymore ammo?" Jones asked.
"No."
Jones sighed, as he took one of the guns apart.
"We'll spend the night here. In the morning we should leave. That way we may escape the Agents before they find out where we are." Jones said, talking like the leader.
"Where will we go?"
Jones slipped something onto the side of a gun, and paused.
"I don't know." Jones admitted.
Brown looked down, and raised his knee to rest his arm. He sighed. He knew he had gotten them in this. No longer were they the Agents. Now they were being chased. Now they were the targets. Now, they were Exiles.
Brown was scared, he knew that now. He stared at the wall across form him. He stared at the blood at the wall. He remembered feeling the pulse of Mr. Anderson. He was dead. He was. . . He remembered the sounds of Smith's gun, as he fired it once. And the pathetic human realized he had failed.
Then Brown turned his head to the concentrating Jones.
"Remember?" Brown asked again.
"Remember what?" Jones asked, raising a gun, and aiming it.
"Remember the look on Smith's face?"
"Of course, I do."
Brown sounded so much weaker than Jones. Brown noticed this, and hunched down, staring at the wall.
"I remember hearing him through the earpiece when he shot Mr. Anderson. . ." Brown said.
"He hated that human." Jones said, putting down one gun.
"He hates that human. . . I don't want that. . ."
Jones turned to Brown, and gave him his gun.
"We won't become like that. You said so, it is our choice."
Brown nodded, and raised his gun to see the modifications. Brown saw it. His Desert Eagle felt lighter, but he knew it now had more firepower. He stared at it, and turned it.
"I didn't know you could do this." Brown said.
Jones finished his gun, and turned to Brown. He only nodded.
"Why did you say he is gone?" Jones asked.
"What?" Brown turned to him.
"You checked Mr. Anderson's pulse, and you said he was gone. That is a human term for death."
Brown turned his head back to the wall, and blinked.
"I guess it is." Brown said.
Brown never realized. . .
Hours passed by then, neither moved. Neither spoke. They left each other alone, thinking their own thoughts. They weren't connected anymore. Neither wore their earpieces, and both enjoyed the freedom to think whatever they wished.
But through the thoughts came fear. What were they going to do now? The thought of being chased, the thought of that. Remembering the faces of humans just before death. Would they be like that?
Brown turned to Jones. Would Jones be able to protect him? Would he be able to pull it off? And if he did, at what cost?
"Jones. . ." Brown started, but never finished.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next Chapter: What is That?
This is fun ^_^ I always liked the other Agents.
Please R/R, thx!
"Where are we going?" Brown asked.
"The only place I can think of."
Brown followed Jones without any question. He didn't really know how to question yet. They walked slowly up some stairs. This place was abandon. A building with cracked walls, and leaking pipes. It was something new for them. Yet neither complained, they didn't have much of a choice in the matter.
Brown wasn't second guessing his decision of Exile. He was only beginning to fear what they would do now. They had no purpose. They didn't know anything on human life. They only killed them. They still had their guns under their jacket. And soon the Mainframe would realize they are not coming, and they'll send other Agents after them.
Brown raised his head, and the stairs ended. Jones went ahead of him, down a hall. Brown got to the end of the hallway, and froze.
"Jones. . ." He whispered.
Jones stared at Brown at the end of the hallway.
"It was all I could think of." Jones explained.
There Brown stood. Stood exactly like before, when he watched Smith kill Mr. Anderson. This was the hallway in which Thomas A. Anderson died, and the anomaly was born. Where their troubles began. This is the place where Smith was killed. Where Smith was changed.
Brown could remember the look on Smith's face. It gave him shudders. That face of fear. That face of no control. He couldn't stop it. And Brown knew he couldn't either. That was the first time fear was felt by the two other Agents. That was when they ran.
Brown didn't like this place. Something about it. The memories.
That human should have died. That human was dead. . . Eight bullets to the chest. Eight bullets. How could he live? How could he have killed Smith?
Jones turned away, and walked into room 303. Brown only stood there. Perhaps too scared to walk forth. It took him minutes before he joined Jones in that room.
The Matrix sun was beginning to rise. It would be morning soon. Jones stared at the window, and watched the world. He stood unmoving, and unfazed. Brown crept into the room, and joined Jones. Brown stood there uneasily. He slightly turned his head.
"The blood is still there." Brown said.
Jones turned to him, and Brown looked outside the room.
The wall was still stained with Mr. Anderson's blood. It was sprayed all over the wall from the gunshots, and smeared down as he fell to the floor. The blood was still there. Almost like a sign, still saying Mr. Anderson was alive, and there was nothing they could do about it.
Jones didn't look at the blood, and stared only at Brown.
"I know." Jones replied.
Jones didn't say anything else, as he turned his gaze back to the window. Brown looked up at Jones. Jones didn't seem fazed, and it made him feel a little weak. Brown looked down, and slowly walked closer to the wall. He stepped cautiously. Slowly, closer and closer to the blood of the anomaly.
He bent down to it, and analyzed it. Emotions erupted that he didn't understand, as he tilted his head. He slowly touched it, feeling it, making sure it wasn't fresh. Making sure this happened long ago. He looked down at his fingers, and rubbed them together. The blood of the human that started this.
Brown didn't understand this feeling he got from the blood, but he suddenly found himself remembering running away from Mr. Anderson.
He didn't move, he stood straight still staring at his fingers, as if the blood would change him.
"Do you remember?" Brown asked.
Jones moved his head towards him.
Brown didn't move, and behind his shades, his blue eyes moved trying to remember something he tried to forget.
"Remember what?" Jones finally said.
Brown still searched his memory. He knew it was there. He knew it happened. Long ago. Long, long ago.
"Remember when we first met each other?" Brown finally said.
Jones tilted his head. That was a very strange thing to talk about, at least for Agents. They only remembered when it was needed. He was wondering about Brown. Why he was like this. . .
Brown turned to Jones, and walked up to him.
"Remember when we were created? When we first heard each other?" Brown continued.
Jones didn't understand Brown. What was wrong with him?
"Why should we discuss this?" Jones asked.
Brown looked surprised for a moment, and realized it was a strange thing to talk about. He looked down, and away from Jones.
"Well, do you?" Brown asked again.
Jones stared at him.
"We aren't Agents anymore. . ." Brown explained.
Jones sighed, being reminded of their reality. Brown looked up at him still, and Jones slowly nodded.
"Do you remember what I said? I don't. . ." Brown said, shaking his head.
Brown joined in Jones's staring on the city they knew. The city they chased in, hunted in.
Jones seemed annoyed with the questions, but answered anyway. He sighed angrily.
"You said, 'I am Agent Brown.'" Jones said.
Brown tilted his head, trying to remember that.
"How did you respond?" Brown asked.
"You were the only that spoke, Brown."
"I was?" Brown asked, surprised.
Jones turned his head to the fellow ex-Agent. Jones was surprised at him.
"Yes, Smith and I only nodded." Jones said.
Brown nodded, and stayed silent, staring at the setting sun. Jones tilted his head at the sun. He found it almost like an omen. A message. The sun was setting, and so were they.
"You know you are the youngest." Jones said.
Caught in the memory files of their "birth" their creation, Jones found himself searching things. Things he had never thought about. Brown looked up at him, surprised. Brown almost smiled, Jones was accepting their decision.
"I am?" Brown asked.
Jones nodded.
"Smith was created, then I 2.4 seconds after him. Then you, 1.7 seconds after me." Jones said.
Brown turned back to the window, and smirked.
"Smith is the oldest." Brown said.
"Indeed. . . He is."
It was a strange thing. Their leader was their elder. He always did seem more advanced. Always. . . He was after all, the one that interrogated. Perhaps he knew more about humans than Brown thought.
"Do you remember are first mission?" Brown asked.
Jones nodded.
Brown fell a little silent.
"Smith killed that person." Brown said.
"Mr. Andrews." Jones added.
Brown glanced up at Jones.
"Smith killed him. . . Do you remember what Smith looked like after that?" Brown asked, quietly.
Jones shot his head up. The two didn't speak for a long time. Remembering that night, remembering Smith smiling as his gun was fired, and the blood of the human dripped onto the ground.
"We should have done something." Brown said.
"How could we have known?" Jones said.
"You and I saw it. . . He enjoyed it. . . I think."
"He did."
"We should of done something a long time ago."
"You asked him once what he was doing. . . He disconnected from us, you were the only one that asked. We should have gotten him defragmented."
"They would have deleted him!"
"Smith? No, not Smith. They would have rebooted him. Repaired him. They would not delete him. He was the best."
Brown fell silent. Could they have saved Smith? If they had done something, would he still be there with them? Would there be any need for upgrades if Smith were still there?
Brown, fell to the ground, and sat against the wall. He shook his head, asking questions. . . What if. . .? He took of his sunglasses, and put them in his jacket pocket. Jones stared down at him.
And now darkness. Night fell, the world through sunglasses was hard to see, and Jones took off his sunglasses as well. Revealing his brown eyes. He sighed, and walked to join Brown on the floor.
"Give me your gun." Jones said.
Brown looked up at him, and slowly took out his Desert Eagle. He handed it to Jones, who took out his.
Brown watched as Jones looked closely at the guns.
"What are you doing?" Brown asked.
"I'm checking our guns, analyzing them. . . Upgrading them. . ." Jones explained, taking out a clip of bullets.
"Why?"
"The Agents will come for us. We must be prepared. They will be able to dodge bullets, perhaps faster than us, we must make these bullets count."
Brown nodded, and banged his head against the wall.
"Do you have anymore ammo?" Jones asked.
"No."
Jones sighed, as he took one of the guns apart.
"We'll spend the night here. In the morning we should leave. That way we may escape the Agents before they find out where we are." Jones said, talking like the leader.
"Where will we go?"
Jones slipped something onto the side of a gun, and paused.
"I don't know." Jones admitted.
Brown looked down, and raised his knee to rest his arm. He sighed. He knew he had gotten them in this. No longer were they the Agents. Now they were being chased. Now they were the targets. Now, they were Exiles.
Brown was scared, he knew that now. He stared at the wall across form him. He stared at the blood at the wall. He remembered feeling the pulse of Mr. Anderson. He was dead. He was. . . He remembered the sounds of Smith's gun, as he fired it once. And the pathetic human realized he had failed.
Then Brown turned his head to the concentrating Jones.
"Remember?" Brown asked again.
"Remember what?" Jones asked, raising a gun, and aiming it.
"Remember the look on Smith's face?"
"Of course, I do."
Brown sounded so much weaker than Jones. Brown noticed this, and hunched down, staring at the wall.
"I remember hearing him through the earpiece when he shot Mr. Anderson. . ." Brown said.
"He hated that human." Jones said, putting down one gun.
"He hates that human. . . I don't want that. . ."
Jones turned to Brown, and gave him his gun.
"We won't become like that. You said so, it is our choice."
Brown nodded, and raised his gun to see the modifications. Brown saw it. His Desert Eagle felt lighter, but he knew it now had more firepower. He stared at it, and turned it.
"I didn't know you could do this." Brown said.
Jones finished his gun, and turned to Brown. He only nodded.
"Why did you say he is gone?" Jones asked.
"What?" Brown turned to him.
"You checked Mr. Anderson's pulse, and you said he was gone. That is a human term for death."
Brown turned his head back to the wall, and blinked.
"I guess it is." Brown said.
Brown never realized. . .
Hours passed by then, neither moved. Neither spoke. They left each other alone, thinking their own thoughts. They weren't connected anymore. Neither wore their earpieces, and both enjoyed the freedom to think whatever they wished.
But through the thoughts came fear. What were they going to do now? The thought of being chased, the thought of that. Remembering the faces of humans just before death. Would they be like that?
Brown turned to Jones. Would Jones be able to protect him? Would he be able to pull it off? And if he did, at what cost?
"Jones. . ." Brown started, but never finished.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next Chapter: What is That?
This is fun ^_^ I always liked the other Agents.
Please R/R, thx!