Alone
"They left us."
"I know."
"They just...left."
"I know."
There was a tapping. The tappings each like the last tap. Perfect and in the same rhythm. Again and again and again.
Brown stared out his window. He was comforted to think of it as his window. He after all, was the only one that bothered to look out it, and look at the world. He was the only one that stood in front of it for hours. He was the only one that tapped on it, trying to touch the world behind it.
It was his window. And he shuddered to think Jones or Smith taking it away from him.
"Did they forget about us?"
"I don't know."
"Or are they watching us?"
"I don't know, Brown." Smith's voice filled with annoyance.
The tapping stopped for a second, the rhythm shattered by Smith's towering voice.
"I'm only asking." Brown said.
Then he began tapping again.
That voice, Brown thought, and closed his eyes. That voice that held so much authority, masking the pain they all felt. Enough to convince Brown that Smith felt no pain, ever.
Brown could feel Smith grin behind him.
Yes, Brown thought, Smith always took pleasure in the fear of others.
"Only asking." Brown repeated.
"You always ask." Smith said, coldly.
Brown, always asking questions, always over observing. The smaller Agent, the weaker Agent. He liked asking questions, because he liked getting answers. But lately answers had stopped coming.
Tap...
Tap...
Tap...
"Jones, stop staring at that gun." Smith commanded.
Brown smiled. He was finding answers. Smith likes to still think he has authority over them, even in times like this. That is why he still gives useless commands, and raises his voice when there is no need.
Still staring, still tapping.
"How long has it been?" Brown asked in his normal, dreamy voice.
"What?" Smith said.
"Since they left us..." Brown's tapping went off rhythm.
Smith sighs, as he walks towards Brown. As if it meant anything, he laid his hand on Brown's shoulder, as if a touch from a leader would help. As if...
"Forty-two years, one hundred and one days, three hours, twenty-seven minutes." Smith said.
"Forty-three." Jones corrects him.
Smith growls at Jones' "defiance" against him.
Brown mutters the years and the days and the hours and the minutes, still tapping.
Forty-three years ago they left them. The humans and the machines. About a centaury ago peace was made, the death of The One signified it, as he destroyed The Virus. Smith who now was staring at Jones, trying to figure out his fascination with the gun in his hand. Over the years the humans were freed, as the machines were finding an alternative energy source. Some humans were not ready to leave the Matrix.
But soon all left.
What were they supposed to do, when they found Smith near the river, half dead and half alive? He was their leader, and they needed him.
Brown lowers his head. Now he knows they would have made it without of Smith.
They don't know what happened to all the other programs. The Oracle and such. The other Agents even. Smith says he found a way to go into a human body, maybe that's where they went. Because they haven't seen anyone in the last Forty-three years.
Maybe everyone just left them.
So they've been alone, with only themselves. After the first twenty years they stopped going outside into the city. They found nothing there, but abandoned remnants of a city. Nothing to interest them.
Nothing to interest their leader, that once owned everything.
They stay in the only place that interested Smith. Room 303 of the Hearts Motel. It is where Mr. Anderson as Smith makes them call him died. Brown holds back his observation that Smith died there too.
"What is so amazing about that gun?" Smith asks Jones, coldly.
Jones looks over at Smith, and says nothing. Then returns his gaze back to the gun. Smith sighs, and slumps down onto the floor, resting. Not that he really needed rest.
Brown taps at the window, and he knows it annoys Smith. Maybe that's why he does that, maybe not.
He's trying to reach the world outside that window. Trying to reach into the Matrix, and leave it. Leave the Matrix, become free. He believes it is just outside his window, so he taps on it, wondering if the window will ever break. Of course it doesn't. And of course he does not leave room 303, because Smith does not allow him to.
Smith takes control on whatever he can, to try and maintain that sense of leadership and power. Brown wonders what would happen if Smith finally realizes Smith has no more control.
The thought brings Brown a smile.
"I wish it would stop raining." Brown says.
Yes it is raining outside. His tapping exactly like the falling of the rain.
"Smith, could you make the rain stop?" Brown turns his gaze away from the window and to Smith who is on the floor.
Smith sighs.
"I've told you Brown, I don't control the weather anymore." Smith says. "Besides, I like the rain."
Brown holds back the observation that Smith died in the rain also.
This is how it is everyday. Tapping, and observing. Silently wishing for freedom, but not speaking it, for fear of Smith's reaction.
Smith was once very passionate about freedom, so he says nothing about it.
Tap...
Tap...
Tap...
"What are you doing?" Brown asks, referring to Jones.
"Will you ever stop asking that question?" Smith says cruelly.
Brown stops tapping for a moment.
"What are you doing?" Brown then turns to Jones.
Jones looks at Brown, and smiles. Then sends a dirty look at Smith, who isn't looking.
"I am analyzing." Jones says simply.
Jones answers Brown, because Brown is not Smith.
Smith, who was once their saving leader, has now ruined any of their chances for a life and for freedom.
This is how it is now. There are no noises, no smells. There is only the three of them. And two of them wishing it were only two. Smith looks to the wall, as if his stare was going to destroy it, and now he is beginning to miss even the smells.
"I wish the rain would go away." Brown says again.
"I don't." Smith says, trying to take control of Brown.
"I wish it would go away too." Jones says, just to annoy Smith.
And it works, as Smith growls with frustration.
Jones and Brown exchange smiles, without Smith noticing.
Then Brown returns to his tapping, and questioning. Smith stares at the wall. And Jones...Jones stares at the gun, thoughts running through his head.
"Put the gun away!" Smith says, anger in his voice.
Jones tightens his grip on the gun, and nods at it. He knows what he is about to do is the only thing that can be done. And regrets he has not done it sooner.
Jones steps closer to Smith, moving for the first time in days. Smith looks over, unafraid, not amused. He is Smith, leader of these two, and he fears nothing from them.
Brown keeps tapping.
"What are you doing?" Brown turns his head at Jones.
Jones' hand begins shaking, and Smith begins to realize he should start fearing them.
"Jones..." Smith whispers.
Jones smiles. Tears beginning to form behind his dark sunglasses.
Smith starts backing into the wall, and is ready to fight.
Brown figures it is nothing, and returns to his window.
Smith grabs Jones hand that holds the gun, and tries to kick him. Jones blocks the kick, and grabs Smith by the tie. He pulls Smith closer to him, and takes off Smith's sunglasses. He wants to see fear in Smith's blue eyes. He is pleased to see it. He smiles at Smith. Jones is the bigger Agent, he is the stronger Agent. And because Smith has died twice, he doesn't have much strength has he thought he did.
"What are you two doing?" Brown asks, void of emotion, not even bothering to look behind him at the horror.
Smiths starts shaking, remembering the last two deaths he has had. And hopes he lives to see another life. Jones just smiles, as his hand steadies with the gun. And he puts it on Smith's forehead.
"Dodge this." Jones says.
Tap...
Tap...
Tap...
Bang...
Tap...
Tap...
Bang...
"What are you doing?" Brown asks, staring at the rain, and the world that left them.
Silence. Brown raises an eyebrow.
"What are you doing?" His voice is more worried.
Then he finally turns to see two bodies in suits, drowning in their own blood that drips from their skulls. Brown doesn't understand. He has forgotten what death looks like, what a gun wound looks like, what a gun sounds like.
"What are you doing!?" Brown yells in fear.
Brown drops to the floor, his Agent suit being stained by red blood, and his sunglasses fell onto the floor with the blood. He didn't know Agents could even bleed... So much blood. So much blood...
He doesn't go to Smith who lies with his blue eyes open, still staring at the gun, the one thing that truly puts him to rest. Brown goes to Jones, who lies face down, peacefully with his eyes closed.
Wherever Jones was now, he was happy. His only regret that there were only two bullets in the gun.
Brown grabbed the gun.
No bullets left for Brown.
Brown stares at the floor and blood, the gun still to his head. And he keeps pulling the trigger, wanting there to be a bullet. But there isn't any.
And Brown falls the floor with Jones, not Smith. He stares at Jones' dead body. He sees Jones is smiling. And it makes him smile too.
The blood starts to flow like a river, and touches Brown's face. Brown closes his eyes.
Then he drops the gun, and starts tapping on his window again.
Tap...
Tap...
Tap...
Tap...
...
Brown makes a fist, and shatters the glass. Then runs.