Last Man Standing
Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix or any of the characters in the movies.
Summary: Jones deals with his past, and he and Smith have one final confrontation from which only one of them will emerge...
WARNING: This deals with Jones' brutal behavior in his past and while I have tried not to go into too much detail, I hope it gets my ideas across without overly offending anyone. This chapter contains references of violence towards women that is both physical and sexual in nature. You have been warned.
"It still seems so unreal."
"It's the truth, Bronwyn, every word."
"And humans are grown in these pod-like things and used as an energy source?"
"Yes." He felt her shiver and he pulled the sheet over her.
"I think I prefer living here, in the Matrix, than living in the Real World. That place sounds like a nightmare."
"It is," Jones said, "you have no idea how horrible it is. I hope, for your sake, that you never find out."
Bronwyn shivered again, more violently this time. "Why did you wait until now to tell me about this?"
"I know I should've told you a lot sooner, but then you had the accident, and I didn't want to worry you and put you under any more stress than what you've already been through. And with the baby being so near, I couldn't do it. I just thought you'd be more surprised, but you're taking this like you've heard it before."
"I have heard it before. A woman called the Oracle told me all of this a day or so after Smith raped me, but I didn't believe her. I thought it was a load of garbage and I told her that. So, she and you and Smith are all programs?"
"Yes, and there are many more. As a matter of fact, it was she who told me where you were; I didn't find you by accident, you know."
"How did you find me, anyway? I've always wondered about that."
Jones kissed the tip of Bronwyn's nose by way of reply. "I'll tell you the whole story another time, all right?" I really should not lie to her again, but what choice do I have, he thought dismally. She must never find out about what I did in my past. She has forgiven me for many things, but she would never get over what I could tell her. She has asked me many times to digitally penetrate her when we make love, but I never could bring myself to do it. I can never risk her finding out the reason why…
With a great deal of reluctance, Jones knocked at the door. I do not want to be here, he thought. With the upgrades so close on my trail, I really don't have time for the fortuneteller's diatribe about my fortune and future.
I have no future. I have no place or purpose in the Matrix anymore, now that Smith is gone. The new agents that have replaced us--Thompson, Jackson, and Johnson--are stronger and faster than Smith, Brown or I could ever hope to be.
All I can do is stay one step ahead of the upgrades, and hope that they don't get lucky or I make a mistake.
The door opened and Jones spoke tersely to Seraph, and stated his business. The two programs had met before under unpleasant circumstances before, but it was acknowledged throughout the Matrix that the program known as The Oracle was not to be harmed or molested in any way, and that her home was to be a neutral area where violence would not be tolerated.
Perhaps it won't be so bad if I talk to her, Jones thought to himself; at least I'll get a reprieve, however brief, from looking over my shoulder all the time.
"I'm here to see her."
Seraph nodded and stood to one side to let the former agent inside the small apartment. Jones ducked his head and bent his tall frame below the strands of beads that hung down from the entrance of the small, plain kitchen. An older African-American woman sat there with a plate of freshly baked cookies at her right hand and an ashtray on her left.
"You sent for me?" Jones asked brusquely.
"I'm glad you got my message, Agent Jones. Please sit down."
He hesitated before complying.
"Smith is gone. But we have very good reason to believe that he will return," stated the Oracle.
"We?" Jones questioned.
An older man in a light grey suit now entered the kitchen but did not deign to sit at the table with them.
"The woman, Ms. Bronwyn Delaney, is now pregnant with his child."
Jones frowned. "But she is a human. How could that happen?"
"We don't know everything yet, Agent Jones, but we do know that this child will play a crucial role in our war against the Resistance. That is why you have been called here."
"I don't understand," Jones said, looking from one to the other, perplexed.
"What we need for you to do is to find this woman and keep her and her unborn child safe and most importantly, away from Smith until after the baby is born."
"And what do I get in return for performing this service?"
"You will not be deleted or pursued in any way by the upgrades; it is as simple as that. If you help us, then we will help you," the Architect said. "You are no longer an agent of the system, former Agent Jones. The destruction of Smith rendered all existing agents obsolete."
"But I will still be an exile?"
The Architect nodded. "Yes, you will, but as I have said, unlike other exiles, the upgrades have their orders not to harm you."
"But what if she decides to terminate the pregnancy?"
"She can't now, it's too late. The pregnancy is too far advanced for an abortion and no gynecologist will perform the procedure. Most human women have an indefinable and mystifying need to protect their unborn children, and Ms. Delaney is one of them, fortunately for us."
"So I am to baby-sit this woman until she is ready to deliver, is that it?" Jones asked with a curl of his lip.
"Don't be so negative, Agent Jones." The Oracle reached across the table and patted the large agent's hand. "Making this particular choice is difficult, I know, but it will be the best decision you will have ever made; and someday you will realize that, I promise."
"What about Agent Brown? Why can't he perform this task instead of me?"
"Agent Brown has already been offered this choice but his revulsion for the humans was second only to Smith's. Rather than help this poor woman, he chose deletion. Of all three of the agents, you always showed--at most--an indifference to humans, not outright malice like Brown or Smith."
Jones opened his mouth to reply, but the Oracle raised her hand. "Please let me finish, Agent Jones. Yes, I know about your past, and I know that some events in it still trouble you. However, no matter how hard and how deep you try to bury certain memories, they are still there. I know it and you know it. I am telling you that if you do what we ask, I promise you that you will not regret it. This one thing may even clear your conscience and free your demons."
"I do not have a conscience, Oracle, I'm not human," Jones said scathingly, his voice and temper raising.
"Of course, you're not," agreed the Oracle, reassuringly. "Have a cookie."
Jones looked at the plate that was on the table. "I don't want a cookie."
"Don't be silly, just take one. It will make you feel better."
Grudgingly, he selected one and bit into it. Almost immediately, he felt soothing warmth spread through his system and it felt….good.
"See? I told you," said the Oracle, smiling. "You should leave now, Jones. It's a long drive."
They both rose from the table and the Oracle gave him a slip of paper. "She frequents this establishment in the city that I've written down and the address is there, too. Find her, son, and keep her safe from Smith."
"I will...Mom," Jones said, looking down at her, allowing a ghost of a smile to cross his face, if only for a moment.
On his way to his car, he halted abruptly when he saw the three upgraded agents watching him from across the street and they drew their sidearms when they caught sight of him. Instinctively, Jones reached for his gun, but stopped when he saw the lead agent, Agent Thompson, press his finger against his earpiece and listen for instructions. After the communication was complete, Thompson shook his head at the other two agents and they continued on their way.
The upgrades should have killed me, but the Architect kept his word, Jones thought. He glanced at the paper the Oracle had given him, and set off.
It was a long drive and Jones had plenty of time to think on the way. He would not be deleted. On the other hand, he would have to protect Ms. Delaney and in so doing, he might be finally able to cleanse his mind and memory of certain disturbing memories, one in particular…
The interrogation had not been going well, to say the least. The woman in custody had remained obstinate but forthright in her disavowals of having any sort of knowledge of why she had been brought to the Agency headquarters.
Looking at her, Jones was positive that she had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time but still, he had his orders directly from Smith to extract any and all information she might possess using whatever means necessary.
Getting more and more frustrated, Jones slapped the woman hard across the face. This is so pointless, he thought angrily, and he was glad to take his resentment out on this woman. I have hours of paperwork waiting for me on my desk, I don't have the time to coddle this witness anymore. It's time to take harsher measures and do what I have to in order to satisfy Smith and this all consuming drive, this obsession that he has concerning anything to do with the Resistance.
"I'm telling you, I don't know anything!" the woman wailed plaintively.
"Shut up," Jones replied dismissively, backhanding her across the face again. She grunted in pain and began to cry.
Oh, crap, just what I need, a human female bawling her eyes out over two little slaps, thought Jones as he eyed her with contempt.
"I'll give you something to cry about," Jones hissed, before savagely punching the woman in the stomach, taking any capacity for her draw a breath and leave him in peace, at least for a few minutes.
The door opened and Smith entered. Jones only had to glance at his superior's face to know that he was not pleased and Jones could easily understand why.
"This interrogation is taking far too long, Jones. Much too long. Do I have to show you yet again how to get information out of an unwilling suspect, especially a female one?" Smith said, scornfully. "I should have known better than to trust you with a task as simple as this; Agent Brown could have done it in far less time."
Jones ground his teeth together in irritation and mortification. He is always comparing me with Brown, he thought, resentful of the preference Smith had always displayed towards the youngest of the agents; and not only that, he is humiliating me in front of this human.
"There is nothing wrong with the way I am questioning her," Jones stated, and Smith heard a slight note of defiance when he spoke. "I have done everything according to standard Agency practices and procedures. I don't think--"
"That's the problem with you, Jones," Smith interrupted irritably, "is that you don't think. You never do. How you are able to handle all the responsibility I give you on a daily basis is beyond me. I am leaving now, but when I return, I want answers from her. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes," Jones replied.
Smith left the room and Jones glared in fury at the woman he had been questioning. There is nothing wrong with my handling of this situation and Smith knows it.
The woman had regained her breath and returned Jones' angry stare. The insolence of that look and Smith's degrading tirade he had been forced to endure drove Jones past his breaking point. He strode over to where she was handcuffed to the chair and from the back of her head, took a handful of her hair in his hand, and jerked it roughly so that her chin was raised. With the other, he fumbled with the zipper of his fly and drew out his member.
"Take it in your mouth," he commanded gruffly.
When the woman did not comply, Jones twisted his hand in her hair, causing her to cry out in pain.
"I said, suck it," Jones snarled.
He closed his eyes and groaned in anticipation as he felt her mouth close around him and he could feel himself getting hard very quickly.
However, once the woman felt Jones respond, she knew the perfect way to retaliate against this man who was forcing her to go down on him. Saying a silent prayer for courage, she took a steadying breath and bit down on Jones' penis. Hard.
He howled in pain and pushed her away from him before he fell to his knees, trying to overcome the searing pain in his groin.
"That is one of the reasons women have teeth," she said with a sneer. Jones did not answer immediately as he had more pressing matters to attend to--the excruciating agony he was now experiencing in every man's most vulnerable area. When the level of pain was more manageable and he was under control of himself again, he got to his feet and with his back turned so that she couldn't see him, he put himself back in his pants very slowly and gingerly, flinching as he did so.
He turned to face her and caught her looking at him smugly. He punched her in the jaw with all of his might, the force of the blow caused the chair to fall over, and she lay unconscious on the floor.
"And that is why men have fists," he countered, addressing her motionless form.
The door was thrown open and Smith came in and stopped short on the threshold for a moment, before entering the room. He took in the scene before him in one glance. "What happened?"
"She bit me," Jones said, wincing. Smith found it extremely difficult not to smirk into his subordinate's pained face.
"I see," he said, gravely. "Well, she will have to be taught a lesson, won't she? She must be punished for her defiance. She must learn the consequences of harming one of us. Especially there. What would you recommend, Jones?"
Jones grimaced. "What I'd like to do is hurt her where she hurt me," he stated grimly, "but I can't. It hurts too much." By this time, the pain had ebbed a little so that it was a dull ache, but it still very uncomfortable, nonetheless.
"There are other ways to rape a woman than with just your penis, you know," Smith said knowingly and Jones pondered his words while looking around the room for an object, but the room was devoid of any such appropriate apparatus and Jones frowned. "There's nothing here that I can use."
"On the contrary, Jones, you have two things right in front of your face that would be more than suitable: your hands. This would be a good opportunity to put those big mitts of yours to a most appropriate purpose, wouldn't you say?"
Jones curled his hand into a fist and examined it at leisure. "But it couldn't possibly fit inside of her, could it?"
Smith shrugged. "Why shouldn't it? Women squeeze out their offspring from that area during childbirth and they are much larger than your fist. You will only be doing the reverse, that's all." He manipulated the code of the Matrix so that a syringe appeared in his hand. "I've found this very useful."
"What is it?" Jones asked.
"It contains a very powerful muscle relaxant that renders its victim completely immobile, yet it does not affect a human's capacity to speak. Let's proceed, shall we?" Smith said, administering the drug to the woman. Jones yanked at her handcuffs, and laid her on the table. Once she was lay full length on it, he removed the clothing from the bottom half of her body….
The screams that filled the interrogation room until she was finally driven into unconsciousness by the pain was something that Jones knew he never would forget. When it was over, Smith was blasé about the whole event, but Jones was not.
Shortly afterwards, Smith handed him a clipping from a newspaper that depicted a large headlined news item about a woman's body that had been found in the river, with massive sexual trauma injuries. Her system was full of alcohol and narcotics and even though there was no picture of the victim, Jones knew without a doubt that she had been the one.
To prevent a repetition of those events, Jones became more assiduous in his duties; improving himself with such an increased diligence to his duties so that Smith could never again have a reason to flaunt Jones' failings in front of anyone again, be they human or program.
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"Okay. Can we talk about something else?" Bronwyn asked quietly, and it took a moment for Jones to remove his mind and memories from the past and concentrate on the present.
"No problem," Jones said complacently, as he ran his fingers over her stomach and felt the stirrings of the unborn life within. "Have you thought a name for him or her yet?"
"I've come up with Sarah, if it's a girl."
"And what if it turns out to be a boy?" Jones teased. "I'm just looking out for us who have a 'Y' chromosome. I think we're outnumbered by you females."
"That's as it should be; someone has to keep you men in line, and besides, where would you be without us?" Bronwyn laughed quietly into the darkness. "As for a name for a boy, I don't know yet. I guess I've been hoping that it's a girl. I've had this feeling for a long time that it is."
"If it turns out to be a girl, I know she will be as beautiful and loving as her mother."
"Aw, shucks, Jones, you're making me blush."
"And if it's a boy, I'm sure he will be as handsome and smart as his father."
Bronwyn froze and began to pull away. "What are you talking about?"
Jones pulled her back against him and kissed the top of her head before he tightened his arm around her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just meant that he would be like me. Smi—his father and I are close enough in appearance so that we could pass for brothers. No one will ever know that I am not his biological father. I will be here to help you raise this baby, Bronwyn. Not him." He heard her sniffle beside him in the darkness. "You're not going to start crying again, are you?"
"Pregnant women are very emotional, Jones, you should know that by now."
And always horny as well, he thought and chuckled. "Last week, I caught you crying at the sunset because you thought it was pretty and before that…" He was most effectively silenced when Bronwyn kissed him, gently at first, then with increasing fervor as her passion was being awakened once more.
"Again?" he said, sounding amused but pleased nonetheless. "Don't you think you've had enough?"
"Never. That's what you get for being so damn good; you get a woman who can't get enough of it," she said huskily, and moaned in unreserved eagerness as she felt him shift his position in bed and begin to stimulate her.
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Unknown to either Jones or Bronwyn, Smith had entered the apartment. Waiting just inside the door, he paused for a long time, waiting to see if his entrance had attracted the attention of its two occupants, but there was nothing. Neither of them had had the presence of mind to lock the door when they arrived home, he thought derisively.
Jones, you have not changed a bit, Smith scoffed to himself. Still the same, big knucklehead you always were. Always overlooking something, always forgetting that one factor that made you so inferior to Brown and his razor-sharp attention to detail. Nothing ever got past Brown if he could help it. I wonder where he is now, Smith wondered absently.
You will pay for your forgetfulness, along with several other things you owe me for, tonight. But I suppose I should thank you for it; after all, it is your habitual tendency to leave something undone and unfinished, that I can come into this apartment without breaking in and putting you on your guard before I am ready to deal with you; in my own time and my own way.
He walked noiselessly throughout the apartment, taking and committing to memory the entire layout and floor plan of the domicile for future reference.
Smith spotted a trail of clothes that they had left behind, and he realized where Bronwyn and her lover would be. In the bedroom. He bent down and picked up the Egyptian scarf that he had purchased for her a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. This is how she takes care of expensive things, Smith thought angrily, by treating the several thousand-dollar scarf I bought for her as if it were of no account.
Outside the closed door to the bedroom, Smith curled his lip in a sneer when he heard the faint sounds of Jones and Bronwyn exchanging what could only be called "pillow talk." Their soft murmurings to one another were barely reaching Smith's listening ear. He pulled sharply away from the door in jealousy and anger as he heard Bronwyn moan loudly and call out Jones' name as she climaxed. A brief silence then it was Jones' turn to be pleasured and Smith heard him groan deeply.
Smith clenched his hands into fists with anger. That should be me with her now, he thought. That should be me experiencing and enjoying whatever sexual act Bronwyn is performing.
But what can I do, he wondered. Should I break in on them now, or should I wait until they come out and then tell them what the Architect has planned for Bronwyn? No, he decided, it would be best if I make Jones come out on his own and we can discuss it like men, just the two of us. And there is only one way that I can let Jones know that I am here but that she is not aware of it.
It was no coincidence that agents always traveled in twos and threes, for each agent had been programmed with a highly sensitive and well-developed ability that was not present in his colleagues. In this way, the different abilities of each agent would complement one other's and make them more efficient. With Smith, it was his sense of smell; for Jones, it was his hearing and Smith was more than willing to use it in order to achieve his desired goal.
Retracing his steps back to the living room, Smith sat in a leather armchair that was next to a small bookcase and began drumming his fingers lightly against the smooth oak surface. Even though he doubted whether the sound, to the human ear at least, would travel as far as the doorway, he knew that Jones would be able to hear it. He paused for a moment and began again…
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Wait, Jones thought to himself. What was that, he wondered. A noise elsewhere in the apartment had caused him to bring his head up sharply and listen attentively. Then he heard it again and knew that he had not been mistaken. Someone else was in the apartment and he had a pretty good idea who it was: Smith.
But first things first. He moaned deeply and loudly when he felt Bronwyn's mouth deliver just the right amount of suction force that always caused him to go over the edge and he climaxed in her mouth.
I can play that game as well as you can, my love, he thought wickedly when his orgasm was spent and he could think again, as he heard her chuckle smugly in the dark. He flicked his tongue over her swollen and engorged clit, causing Bronwyn to groan in her turn.
She thrashed her head from side to side, moaning constantly, as her lover continued his pleasurable torment.
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"Jones, what are you doing?" Bronwyn asked curiously, as she watched him pull on his pants and get out of bed. She eyed his silhouette with satisfaction. His broad shoulders were in perfect proportion to the rest of his body and he had the narrow hips of a natural athlete. On top of that, he has a butt that most men would die for. And he's all mine.
"Well, you said that you did want something to drink," he replied.
"Yes, I do, but you're only going to get me something to drink, not go downstairs and get the mail. No one is going to see you."
He turned to look at Bronwyn lying in bed and hesitated before answering. I will not worry her. He glanced at the nightstand where his Desert Eagle pistol lay. He wanted to take his revolver, but decided against the idea. If I take my gun, then Bronwyn will know for certain that something is wrong, and I don't want to get her upset or nervous. I will deal with whatever Smith is planning, alone.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her and she tasted herself on his lips. "I love you, Bronwyn."
The Oracle was right, he realized, agreeing to guard Bronwyn and her baby was the best decision I ever made.
"And I love you, Jones."
"I'll be back soon. Don't worry."
She nodded, and then snuggled deeper into the covers as he closed the door behind him.
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Smith sat up with rapt attention as he heard the bedroom door open then close, and approaching footsteps informed him that Jones had indeed heard and was responding to his rather unorthodox method of getting his attention.
Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly, Smith thought with grim pleasure as he rose to his feet to greet his former assistant. He glanced disapprovingly at Jones' state of undress; he was not wearing a shirt and his feet were bare. Jones answered the look with a defiant glare.
"Did you think I'd come out to meet you in a suit and tie, Smith?" Jones sneered, but Smith ignored his question.
"So you are finally here, Jones. I'm surprised you were able to hear anything with all that moaning and groaning you both were doing," said Smith snidely.
"Keep your voice down, Smith!" Jones hissed in an undertone. "I didn't tell her you were here and I don't want her to know, either. Why do you care what we were doing? Are you jealous?"
As he looked at his former superior, he saw Smith's nostrils flare. Of all the agents, Smith always had the sharpest sense of smell and Jones knew he could smell Bronwyn's musky scent on his breath. Damn! I should have remembered that, thought Jones. I should've gargled with mouthwash or even brushed my teeth before I came out to see him.
"So she did tell me the truth about what you do to her, about where you kiss her."
"Yes."
"And she reciprocates? Willingly?"
"Yes. I don't force her to do anything. I never have."
He was startled when Smith grabbed him by the head and brought his lips to Jones' own. Jones knew that Smith did not want to kiss him in a sexual or romantic sense; Smith only wanted to savor and discover for himself what Bronwyn's most intimate area tasted like.
But that pleasure is reserved for me alone, not you, Jones thought as he shoved Smith away.
"What right do you have to have so much, Jones?" Smith asked, frowning and Jones heard the note of desperate anger that Smith was unable to hide, behind the words. "You have everything while I have nothing. It's not fair."
"You have nothing because you deserve nothing, Smith. Perhaps if you had been gentle and considerate with her, she wouldn't have run to the other end of the state in order to get away from you. You made her afraid of you and you hurt her."
"She's hurt me as well."
"Because of that so-called offer you made her that day in the garage when Persephone stopped you from raping her again? Yes, she told me about that; about how you offered to buy her anything she wanted and give her a nice place to live. For a price."
"I never said anything about--"
Jones dismissed Smith's argument with an impatient wave of his hand. "You know damn well that there would be some kind of price tag attached to whatever you would have given her. I know you, Smith. You would never do anything for free. You would have wanted her to have sex with you as repayment, consensual or not. Be honest; when she said 'no' to you that day, she wounded your pride and you were going to make her pay by forcing her into the backseat of your car so you could rape her, weren't you? If the Frenchman's wife hadn't been there, you would have done exactly that.
You were angry that this human, this woman refused you: the great and formidable Agent Smith. If you hadn't have raped her and hurt her the way you did, she might have learned to love you, in time. But I doubt it."
"Why do you say that?"
"You like hurting women, Smith. You always did."
"Is your past so perfect, Jones? Is your record with women without a blemish? No it isn't, and you know it, so who the hell are you to accuse me?" Smith sneered angrily. "Have you told her about that woman?"
"No, I haven't."
"No, of course you wouldn't, because if you had, Bronwyn would have left you in no time flat and you know it. That woman killed herself because of what you did to her, remember?"
"I remember. I don't need you to remind me."
Smith peered speculatively at Jones. "You were different after that incident, if I recall. You didn't take as active a part in a suspect's interrogation as you used to. From that time on, you mostly watched from the sidelines as Brown or I delivered the injections or the physical 'encouragement', shall we say, that we gave an unwilling suspect. You would hold them down if necessary, but not deliver any blows yourself."
Both men stared at each other for a long moment and Jones knew Smith was trying to rattle him, to get him off his guard, but it would not work. Not anymore. "That is in the past, Smith. I've dealt with my demons and those memories won't be back," he stated matter-of-factly, coupled with a sense of pride at finally being able to come to terms with his most unpleasant memory. "What are you doing here?"
"I came here to warn you. To warn the both of you of what the Architect has in mind for Bronwyn."
"What do you mean?"
"He wants her to be the mother of a new race of program/human hybrid offspring. He thinks that since she became pregnant with my child, she could give birth to the children of other programs in the Matrix as well."
Jones grimaced in revulsion. "Including the Merovingian's?"
Smith shrugged. "Probably. You know what he's like. He'll have sex with just about any woman that can walk and talk and it doesn't matter to him if she is a program or human."
"Do you think the Architect himself would--?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. That pompous, arrogant ass would love to have a child in his own image: you know how conceited he can be."
"Why have you told me this?"
"Because I know that you do not want Bronwyn to be forced to have sex with these men any more than I do, Jones. Try to imagine her underneath either of them, being violated over and over until she conceives—"
Jones interrupted, his voice harsh and guttural. "I get your point, Smith, you don't have to go into detail."
"When did you know? About when you first realized that you loved her, I mean," asked Smith, abruptly but quietly. He, too, did not want to wake Bronwyn; however, once he had finished with Jones, then he would have all the time he needed to deal with her the way he wanted.
Jones was taken aback by the unexpected query coming from Smith, of all programs.
"I think it was the night that we went to see a movie together. On the way back home, she nearly fainted when she felt her child move for the first time. And after that, she had this nightmare about you--."
Without warning, Smith thrust his hand in Jones' chest, beginning the process of deletion. Unlike the creation process of his two other selves, however, Smith did not want Jones to become a clone for the simple reason that when Bronwyn knew what he had done, she would undoubtedly prefer that copy to himself because Jones was a part of it, and that was something that Smith would not tolerate. She will learn to love me, not one of my copies.
It had been so easy to take you over, Smith thought smugly, all I needed was a moment's distraction, and your fate was sealed. He watched his ex- subordinate's look of surprise and horror when he realized—too late—what was happening to him. He opened his mouth to call out to Bronwyn, to warn her, but he could not make a sound.
"You can't speak, so don't even bother. You never should have come into this room to investigate that noise I made. You never were very smart, Jones, and that was the final proof of your stupidity," Smith sneered, as he watched with sadistic amusement as the program that had been Jones was beginning to be dissolved, dissembled, and absorbed into his own.
"If you had bothered to use your brain, or any other part of your anatomy for that matter, you would've stayed with Bronwyn. A beautiful, naked, albeit pregnant, woman is in your bed and you chose to leave her alone, all because you heard something?" Smith said incredulously, with unrestrained delight. "If I had been in your place, nothing and no one could've torn me away from her side."
Angry at himself for allowing Smith to catch him unawares, and angry because of Smith's arrogant gloating, with a final act of defiance Jones suddenly swung his hand out and knocked over a vase that was next to the lamp. It smashed on contact with the floor, spreading pieces of glass everywhere and shattering the silence of the apartment.
Jones had done it deliberately so that Bronwyn would hopefully wake and be on her guard and, with any luck, she would have the presence of mind to take his Desert Eagle from the top of the nightstand. The idea of Smith entering the bedroom with his sick, twisted desires, and finding Bronwyn in bed, asleep and completely helpless, had been too much to bear for Jones.
At least she has some kind of warning, was Jones' last coherent thought as the erasure of his body and form became complete.
Smith's matrix code began overwriting Jones' files; deleting everything but his memories. Everything Jones had said, everything he had done with Bronwyn, flooded through his system, becoming a part of his own programming.