AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own the right to the Matrix. The Wachowski Brothers do. Also, I do not own the rights to the McDonald's food chain, nor to any of their mascots. I don't know who does and frankly, I do not care.

Also, I would like to thank myself for being so "Agent Smith-like". You're awesome, Chaotyk!

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It thundered outside. The rain fell incessantly, a constant noise that impeded the slightly eerie peace and quiet of the large, red and yellow house. Inside, Grimace the McDonald's mascot was standing around making stupid quotes about McDonald's Chicken McNuggets to himself.

"Now with white meat! Whoo-hoo! But don't stop to ask about what we put in it before! No, you don't want to do that..."

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

At this hour? This was not a good sign.

Grimace slowly waddled to the front door of his out-of-the-way home, located deep in the countryside of McDonald's-Land. It was widely assumed that any enemies of the great Ronald McDonald would be stopped at the entrance to this mysterious and unknown dimension, but you could never be sure...

Grimace opened the door. It thundered outside again.

Agent Smith stood on Grimace's doorstep.

"Mr. Grimace," Smith said in his usual half-bored drawl. "It's been a while."

"Smith..." Grimace whispered in fear. "What are you...?"

"Who, me?" The Agent chuckled. "Don't play games with me, Mr. Grimace," Smith said. "I know that you're hiding him here."

Dripping wet, Smith stepped into the house. "Where is he, Mr. Grimace?"

Grimace was in a panic. "I don't... I don't know what you're..."

"Don't waste my time!" Smith hissed. He whirled around, pulled out his Desert Eagle, lifted Grimace off the ground and shoved the barrel of his gun to Grimace's forehead. "Tell me where he is... now."

Then, a voice from behind the Agent called out. "I'm right here, Smith."

In the entrance to the hallway stood Ronald McDonald. He was dressed just like he appeared in the annoying commercials, except that his usually smiling face was tight-lipped and calculating.

Smith dropped Grimace with a thud and turned around. "Ah, Mr. McDonald." He paused, displaying that half-grin, half-scowl that was his trademark. "Surprised to see me?"

"No."

"Oh, well good," Smith called out to his prey. "Then you haven't underestimated my power."

"I think that it was more of an overestimation of the security of McDonald-Land," Ronald retorted.

Smith's mouth turned into a full scowl. "You know that no matter what kind of defenses that you had put up, I would have gotten here anyway." McDonald nodded. Smith continued. "But let's not waste time talking like this. We both know why I'm here." Again, McDonald nodded. "I'm here to destroy you, Mr. McDonald. Because, as I so truthfully told Mr. Anderson all those years ago... the purpose of life is to end."

At this, he shifted the aim of his Desert Eagle to point directly at Ronald's left eye and left out a stream of all eight bullets. McDonald dodged them; Smith dropped the gun and leapt.

Smith's first attack was a fist bash to the left; McDonald parried easily, but realized too late that it was a diversion. Smith's other fist flew from the right side and hit McDonald full in the stomach. The mascot doubled over, and Smith kicked him. Ronald flew twenty feet across the large anteroom and smashed into a wall, sending pieces of concrete flying in all directions.

"Do you see it, Mr. McDonald? Do you see? You are nothing. Nothing but a marketing ploy. You have no purpose except to draw small children into that disgusting fast-food 'restaurant' of yours. But do you know what, Mr. McDonald?" Smith started walking to the gasping, obviously wounded figure of his enemy. "The children are no longer attracted by some filthy, high-school dropout clown. Oh, no, Mr. McDonald, that may have worked in the sixties, maybe even the seventies, but this is the 21nd century now." By now, he was standing right over the form of Ronald McDonald, who was clutching at his left abdomen. "You have no purpose."

At this, Smith kicked him. McDonald slid across the tile floor. Smith moved over to him again. "No purpose," he hissed, and started to raise his leg for a final, killing kick.

The sound of a full automatic stopped him.

Smith jumped out of the way of the MP5 bullets, gracefully landing on the other side of the anteroom. He looked up to see Grimace holding an MP5 with an extended magazine and laser scope, the dot of which was now resting squarely between Agent Smith's eyes. Smith laughed. "You think you can challenge me, you overgrown booger?"

Grimace did not flinch. "You will die tonight, Smith." At this, he let out a sustained burst of fire. Smith easily dodged the spray of bullets, running up the wall and leaping off. He landed behind Grimace, who swung his submachine gun around to meet the threat from behind.

He was too slow. Smith reached over and broke Grimace's neck. The large, purple mascot fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He did not move.

Smith looked at Grimace for a while, then turned back to where Ronald McDonald was.

But McDonald was gone.