Mimic
Whispers of the Enemy

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?


The lights dimmed down for the night, but Smith did not move. He was still lost in the question. At first he had come here as a predator stalking the bars of a cage separating him from his prey. Anderson's escape still vexed the exile just as it always had since the beginning of this. Since the object of his fixation had so cleanly escaped he had been left without a purpose here, for he was not about to waste his chance killing the random strangers in the Council. He had not truly come here for the sake of Brown, Jones or the old purpose he had served. He recognized that now, just how far away he was from that Agent he had been. He needed something to hope for, so to speak, something he could plan, some way to give Anderson pain if not death. And so he had taken to stalking after the ailing Morpheus, watching through glass, kept away by a locked door that held two guards within. He knew he could not kill Morpheus now, but he kept returning, asking how the captain faired if anyone happened to notice his presence in the shadows, assuring them he merely wished to talk and understand, that his words at the temple had moved him.

And eventually some of the story made it into his motives. He did find himself curious to understand, even if he would never talk with Morpheus. Trying to shake the unnecessary curiosity, he turned away from the window and stopped short, seeing a small form before him. Her skin was shadowy and those dark eyes of hers smoldered as she assessed what she had found. "You're Mimic," she surmised, surprising him.

Smith raised his eyebrow. "And you're Niobe." His knowledge of her name did not impress her visibly.

She continued to watch as if waiting for him to state his business and gave up after a moment, glancing beyond him through the window at the sleeping man within. "What are you doing?"

He regurgitated the same rehearsed story, altering the elements every so slightly, recycling the lies and mixing them with truth. "I came to see how he was."

"Why?" she pressed without hesitation.

Exhaling, he turned back towards the window and looked inside. "I heard him speak. I see this world around me, I see him in there, suffering senselessly and I wonder why. Why do you continue with this charade of an existence when the Matrix offers so much more?"

Niobe came to stand beside him, her eyes fixed on Morpheus with a softness he was not sure she meant to betray. Her tone was not as gentle. "You don't want to be here? Fine, but you won't be bothering him with your cynical, pointless arguments..."

"I don't want to argue, I want to know why!" Smith hissed, turning on her, feeling his anger bubble to the surface. Niobe's eyes widened a little, but she did not appear afraid of him. He looked away from her, bothered by his own outburst, running one of his hands over the flesh of the other. It wearied him to think on, a feeling he did not fully understand yet. A bitter smile touched his lips as he looked up into her wary expression. "I am trapped here. What does this place have to offer me?"

She exhaled and shook her head. "That's something you have to discover. No one can tell you. Not me. Not Morpheus. And you'll find it only if you're willing." He watched as her eyes flitted back to Morpheus and could tell she had more on her mind. Perhaps something like what he was saying. Smith stayed silent, waiting for more. I wasn't much different at first. I knew what I had gotten myself into when I was offered the choice, but it wasn't enough to prepare me for how life is down here. But there were a few things that meant something more to me than the comfort of the Matrix." Her eyes swept back up to his. "Truth and freedom."

Smith frowned, but said nothing, knowing nothing he said would change her mind, knowing it was not worth the attempt. "And those things are worth living in this squalor?" he asked her half-heartedly.

Niobe shrugged her shoulders. "Only to some. Look, you better go. Psyche's waiting for you in the hangar. We haven't had any contact from the Vigilant since they departed, so we're heading in to see if we can help. She wants you to go, Mimic."

"Does she?" he mused dryly. He pursed his lips and glanced at the hall leading away from his would-be victim. "I suppose it's not as if I have anything better to do." That, of course, was not entirely true. So they were headed in to help Anderson, were they? He would be more than happy to attend the rescue, but of course could not appear so eager.

To his surprise as he turned away she stopped him with a hand to his arm. He turned with a frown that melted slightly when she said, "If that's what it takes. But if you're going to help, then help."

Smith nodded without comment and turned from her, leaving her alone with her thoughts, her sorrow over Morpheus. As he made his way towards the hangar his thoughts were alight with a new hope for the destruction of Anderson. Gone was the curiosity, replaced with determination. The hunt was still on.

Entering into the hangar he saw Psyche not far, inspecting the Damascus, her bag thrown carelessly to the floor. She was not so immersed that she did not sight his quiet approach before he reached her, however. She turned with appraising eyes that seemed almost happy to see him. "I see someone found you. Coming? Where are your things?"

"What things?" he asked in a testy voice, stopping before her. He let out a breath and shook his head. "Yes. I was found and will join you, if only to try and figure out why you do what it is you do."

Her smile only increased at his reply. "Get on, Mimic. We're leaving now."

He glanced back towards the city before turning to follow her and caught sight of her measuring eyes. There were times like this one he found her to be a truly aggravating creature. With a glare he brushed ahead of her and entered into the ship for what he hoped would he a final time. After he faced his enemy and destroyed him, he did not care what happened to this body. On board were the expected individuals, of course, all of whom smiled in greeting except for Steel. He merely nodded, conveying another message with his eyes. A warning, if Smith understood these humans correctly. He allowed himself a small smile to irritate the medic.

Behind him the door shut. Psyche motioned him towards the back where the Matrix interfaces were. "You're now allow to sit and wallow in your rooms this time around, Mimic. Time for some training."

"I told you I did not want one of those things in my head," Smith hissed, having forgotten this possibility. He had no way of knowing what would happen if they tried to train him in the way he knew these rebels were trained, via uploaded information. The risk was not worth taking, for he knew how to fight better than any of them, of course. Yet it was how to get out of it that troubled him.

Psyche stared at him a moment, her eyebrow raised. The ship was silent as a battle was fought between their steely expressions. "You're going to have one of those 'things' in your head when you see the Oracle, Mimic, and you will go and see her. I promise you that."

"If I refuse?" he countered, staring her down, trying to intimidate her out of her demands. He could refuse the training easily and claim a change of heart later on when it came to jacking in to the actual Matrix, but if she thought she could force him later she would assume she could force him now.

Tilting her head to the side, she gave him a long, smoldering look before replying, "If you refuse to see the Oracle, you won't get what you're looking for. Train or come and help me in the cockpit. I can teach you that easily enough, but if you spend the first part of this trip in your quarters, then you'll spend the last part of it there as well. There are locking mechanisms on the doors if they're needed."

Again it seemed her words addressed the reality of who he was, not who he was pretending to be, and again he wondered how much she had already guessed. But it made no sense to him. Why would she help him if she knew what he was? Not unless she, like Reagan, was a defector. Yet none of her actions in public or in private seemed to suggest that. If she were interested in aiding the agents surely she would have sought him out privately to negotiate. He backed down from the battle of wills and exhaled, stepping towards her. "That will not be necessary. Just don't hook me up to any machines. Not yet."

"You're gonna get yourself fucking killed without training," Steel growled from the shadows. He grunted sourly, then retreated towards the medical bay.

"Come on," Psyche breathed, heading on towards the cockpit without him. He followed after her quickly, almost eager to be alone with her, to see if she said anything relevant to his true purpose, and yet wary of that very thing as well. He took a seat beside her and eyed the controls, memorizing the appearance, cataloguing what she did with hers. She spoke without looking at him. "Must you be so difficult?"

Smith grunted reflexively, then frowned when she pointed him towards the controls. "I never promised to be otherwise." The captain shook her head and gave him an annoyed look, but did not pursue the matter, leaving him to the task of subtle hunting. "So what is it that you think I am searching for, Psyche?" he asked her in a deceptively mild tone. He was not sure what he would say if she made an implication of the truth. Without aid his chances of successfully re-entering the Matrix were slim and yet if she knew his truth nature he could not leave any of them alive.

For a long moment she was silent and he felt his host's muscles tense until finally she said in a soft, unintrusive tone, "What are any of us looking for, Mimic? Purpose? That's what you really want, isn't it? Is that the root of all your tension? I don't think you honestly care how we live in Zion."

"An interesting assumption," he replied with an unintended edge. Her words were irritating to him. He did not like that a human could understand him even a little or to have her equate his motives with human ones. Still, she had said nothing too condemning yet. He pressed for more. "And this Oracle, she will know my purpose?"

Psyche's response was not telling enough to clue him in as to how much she knew. "Just about any question you could ask she has an answer to. Remember that when you speak with her."

He grunted and let the matter drop, surmising she would say no more. Already she had given him enough to keep him from protesting too loudly any of her commands. Now he would simply have to wait. They departed Zion in silence and for a few hours he allowed himself to be directed by her guidance in how to operate the ship, listening to her advice on the Oracle, the Matrix and the bare facts that she thought he needed to know. Some time passed and again she suggested he train, which he steadfastly denied, saying that he already knew how to fight. She had given him a dubious look, but did not pursue it after that.

Then sometime after he had pondered and planned and concluded, Psyche pointed ahead of them and said, "We'll set her down right there and jack in. You say you know how to fight? Well, I will warn you, we cannot pick up the slack in trying to defend you. You will do exactly as I say at all times and react immediately when I give you an order. This will save your life. Understand?"

"I understand," he humored her, helping her to bring the ship down. Once it settled she stood and motioned him to follow, heading on towards the Matrix interface in the back. Two of the crew followed and when they arrived he saw Steel waiting there for them. Smith ran his eyes along the machines they used to jack in and curled his lip, but said nothing. With a frown Steel directed him to a chair, hissing a warning to his captain not to risk her life for nothing.

He could not deny it. Deep within the middle of his abdomen he began to feel something strange. It was a certain fluttery feeling he associated with the uncertain grounds he was walking into. While he was not afraid, he conceded to himself that he did not feel prepared enough to make a fail-safe plan. Part of him was curious, certainly, about the Oracle, but he knew to see her was not worth the risk. Yet without following the trail of these humans he would not know where or how to find Anderson. As he sat back against the chair he found his fists tightening of their own accord. Perhaps the Oracle would not know who he was. It was a long debated subject among his kind, his previous kind, as to whether or not she could accurately predict all scenarios.

Lost in the thoughts, he did not notice Steel was working at the apparatus at his head until he felt a shove, but by the time he felt able to respond everything went black. Yet even that was as temporary as the previous effect. As the bright world painted by the Matrix faded into view Smith felt no pain, finding himself in an apartment room in disrepair. He reached instinctively towards the back of his head to find his hair had returned. His clothes, too, were differentthe same casual wear of his host. The others were draped in the garb of the night, their bodies boasting of leathers and black. Psyche smirked at his attire and opened a phone to her ear. "Send something for Mimic to wear."

Halfway through asking if that was necessary, he noticed suddenly a neatly folded pile of clothes on a table that he had not seen minutes before. Smith closed his mouth, jerked the garments off the table and changed there without any modesty. The other two were polite enough to turn away from him, but Psyche did not seem to mind. "I've been given a location not far from here. Your meeting with the Oracle should be brief."

Smith grunted and straightened once he was dressed. The soft leather pants hung loose around his legs and the black shirt was not restricting. He checked the pockets of the ankle length leather coat for a weapon and came back with a pair of reflective sunglasses. Sliding them on his face, he raised his eyebrow at the female captain. "Is there a reason for all this ostentatious clothing? If you are looking to avoid attention I believe you will find your efforts in vain."

Psyche smiled at him without replying and motioned the others to follow. They left the abandoned building quickly, weapons at the ready, eyes peering around every corner. He wondered idly if they would happen upon any of the other agents, was conflicted over whether or not he truly wanted that to happen. Yet as the moments ticked by he began to lose what bare hope he had. They disappeared down an alley, coming to a nondescript door that Psyche opened without knocking. Within was quite different than the broken down looking outside. The walls were soft, clean and white, reflecting against a reflective black tiled floor. There was a single chair and seated there was an Asian male wearing black and white. Seraph. Smith became uncomfortable, knowing now he must be caught and identified for who he was. They had met before. He had hunted this exile to no avail and would now become the hunted, it seemed. Though his eyes were covered by his sunglasses, the exiled Agent could see he was looking them over and when he paused, Smith prepared himself for a battle. Yet the program before them did not address him, but their leader. "You are Captain Psyche," he said and stood.

"Yes, we've gone come to see the Oracle as my message said."

The man nodded once and motioned towards a door behind his now vacant chair. "She is waiting. Follow me."

What would happen now? Smith knew it was time for him to end this charade, now before they could overtake him, yet his feet propelled him forward and his mouth remained closed. Seraph stood aside, letting them through the door first, watching with his hidden eyes. Smith did not lower himself to look away as he moved to pass, but boldly looked into the face of his enemy and there he saw recognition. Seraph's dark eyes could be seen through the opaque lenses of his eye ware and there was no mistaking it. He knew who it was in the company of these rebels, knew and said nothing at all. There was distrust there and a warning, but no sudden actions or desperate orders to seize the agent they now happily led towards their precious Oracle.

The guardian stepped in behind Smith, closing the door. They were inside a long hallway filled with doors. Backdoors, he could see. A very smart way to hide her. This was why Seraph had escaped so easily, so many times. He moved to the head of them, leading the rebels on until he came to an exit and opened it. They entered into a very homey, lived-in looking place with couches and vases filled with flowers and pictures on the walls. Seraph turned towards them, his hands folded confidently together before him. "Wait here. Mimic, you will follow." His eyes picked Smith out without uncertainty.

His muscles tense, Smith followed without question, entering into yet another door that lead to a small hallway where Seraph stopped. "You are not going to take me to her," he said, unable to contain a sudden smile. A challenging smile.


Author: Ruse - Disclaimer: No infringement intended.
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