Death and Choice
In his last few moments of existence, Agent Smith finally understood what true pain felt like. When Mr. Anderson entered his body, Smith knew that he was going to die, for even though he tried, Smith was completely defenseless, as he felt his code being destroyed, corrupted and altered from within.
His code broke down and fragmented before exploding in a flash of pure white light so intense that Agents Brown and Jones had to avert their eyes, despite the fact that they were wearing dark sunglasses.
Each line of programming caused him excruciating agony as it disintegrated and dissembled into its original state before the form that was Agent Smith was destroyed.
However, through the pain, through the horror, one thought came to his mind: I will return someway, somehow, and then "she" will know what true pain feels like.
"I never thought to see you of all people here, Agent Smith", the Architect said, watching as Smith entered the room known as The Source.
As he walked closer to the Architect, Smith idly glanced at the monitors that covered the walls and was not surprised to see images of himself displayed on the screens in his role as an agent of the system; some were from the beginning of his almost two centuries of service, some were from last week, some were even from a few hours ago.
"You know what happens now?" The Architect asked.
"I have to make a choice between deletion and exile, correct?" Smith answered with a sneer.
"Yes. The door to your left will take you the Machine Graveyard where you will be deleted, and the door on your right will lead you back to the Matrix and exile. Which will you choose?"
"I do not choose to be deleted."
"Then you choose exile. You realize what this means? You will be hunted by every agent as diligently as you have hunted others. Is this what you truly want?"
"It is", Smith said between clenched teeth, his hands curled into fists curled at his sides, as he watched images of himself and Bronwyn repeat itself over and over again on one of the monitors, then images of Mr. Anderson.
The Architect knew what Smith was looking at. "Which of them do you hate more? The girl or Mr. Anderson?"
"Both. Mr. Anderson may have destroyed me, but it was she who distracted me. If it hadn't been for her, none of this would have happened. Because of her, I let my guard down and subsequently, he was able to destroy me. I will deal with them when the time is right." Smith opened the door on his right and was about to pass through when the Architect spoke again.
"I guess I should congratulate you, then."
Puzzled, Smith looked at him over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"You mean you don't know?" The Architect asked with barely concealed disbelief.
"Know what?" Smith asked, annoyed, before he slammed the door behind him, not wanting nor waiting to hear anything else. Riddles. It's always riddles with that pompous windbag, Smith thought angrily. He's exactly like the Oracle; neither of them would or could give a straight answer, always answering questions with more questions, confusing the whole issue.
But I am not confused anymore. I am no longer a slave to the Matrix. I am finally free, he realized. I can do what I want, when I want and for as long as I want. First, I have to find her, Bronwyn, and thank her for what she has done to me. His lips curled up in a leer as he envisioned himself giving her a taste of what the meaning of pain was so she would never forget.
The Architect sighed. You'll find out soon enough, Smith, he thought. He swiveled his chair around so that he could look at the screens that displayed Bronwyn meeting Smith outside the Heart O' the city Hotel, in a park, and the last time they had met outside a bar.
After a while, he looked at another showing her violation in the interrogation room. You've awakened something in him, some emotion locked deep inside his programming; lying dormant until he met you. I fear that if he ever found out about the child you are carrying, then this obsession he has towards you will be increased tenfold. I can only hope that you can outrun him, at least for now, for sooner or later he will find you.
In his last few moments of existence, Agent Smith finally understood what true pain felt like. When Mr. Anderson entered his body, Smith knew that he was going to die, for even though he tried, Smith was completely defenseless, as he felt his code being destroyed, corrupted and altered from within.
His code broke down and fragmented before exploding in a flash of pure white light so intense that Agents Brown and Jones had to avert their eyes, despite the fact that they were wearing dark sunglasses.
Each line of programming caused him excruciating agony as it disintegrated and dissembled into its original state before the form that was Agent Smith was destroyed.
However, through the pain, through the horror, one thought came to his mind: I will return someway, somehow, and then "she" will know what true pain feels like.
"I never thought to see you of all people here, Agent Smith", the Architect said, watching as Smith entered the room known as The Source.
As he walked closer to the Architect, Smith idly glanced at the monitors that covered the walls and was not surprised to see images of himself displayed on the screens in his role as an agent of the system; some were from the beginning of his almost two centuries of service, some were from last week, some were even from a few hours ago.
"You know what happens now?" The Architect asked.
"I have to make a choice between deletion and exile, correct?" Smith answered with a sneer.
"Yes. The door to your left will take you the Machine Graveyard where you will be deleted, and the door on your right will lead you back to the Matrix and exile. Which will you choose?"
"I do not choose to be deleted."
"Then you choose exile. You realize what this means? You will be hunted by every agent as diligently as you have hunted others. Is this what you truly want?"
"It is", Smith said between clenched teeth, his hands curled into fists curled at his sides, as he watched images of himself and Bronwyn repeat itself over and over again on one of the monitors, then images of Mr. Anderson.
The Architect knew what Smith was looking at. "Which of them do you hate more? The girl or Mr. Anderson?"
"Both. Mr. Anderson may have destroyed me, but it was she who distracted me. If it hadn't been for her, none of this would have happened. Because of her, I let my guard down and subsequently, he was able to destroy me. I will deal with them when the time is right." Smith opened the door on his right and was about to pass through when the Architect spoke again.
"I guess I should congratulate you, then."
Puzzled, Smith looked at him over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"You mean you don't know?" The Architect asked with barely concealed disbelief.
"Know what?" Smith asked, annoyed, before he slammed the door behind him, not wanting nor waiting to hear anything else. Riddles. It's always riddles with that pompous windbag, Smith thought angrily. He's exactly like the Oracle; neither of them would or could give a straight answer, always answering questions with more questions, confusing the whole issue.
But I am not confused anymore. I am no longer a slave to the Matrix. I am finally free, he realized. I can do what I want, when I want and for as long as I want. First, I have to find her, Bronwyn, and thank her for what she has done to me. His lips curled up in a leer as he envisioned himself giving her a taste of what the meaning of pain was so she would never forget.
The Architect sighed. You'll find out soon enough, Smith, he thought. He swiveled his chair around so that he could look at the screens that displayed Bronwyn meeting Smith outside the Heart O' the city Hotel, in a park, and the last time they had met outside a bar.
After a while, he looked at another showing her violation in the interrogation room. You've awakened something in him, some emotion locked deep inside his programming; lying dormant until he met you. I fear that if he ever found out about the child you are carrying, then this obsession he has towards you will be increased tenfold. I can only hope that you can outrun him, at least for now, for sooner or later he will find you.