Disclaimer: I don't own any of this
Smith, Neo, The One, The Agent, it didn't matter anymore. The fact is he was an entity, built out of code, designed with a purpose. He remembered speaking about purpose once, to Neo. A smile had sat smugly on his face. Now whenever he thought of his purpose, he frowned with disdain.
His purpose now was to be an errand boy. Destroy something he cared not for, to people he looked on with exhaustion. His campaign, his crusade had all ended in failure. His purpose was shattered. He just wanted to rest. Even deletion looked appetizing. Exile had bored the Merovingian, and Smith did not doubt it would bore him too.
He was flying now, in the Logos. The Machines had salvaged and rebuilt it, making it more suitable and comfortable for Smith. It was a one man vessel. Smith wanted to rename it, make it something more fitting. He still had the mind of a computer. He could generate thought and information fast. Where most humans used 2-10 of their brains, he used 75. His mind shifted to Greek. It was, after all, a very popular culture used to generate names. He translated "Alone" to Greek: Movo. He liked it.
The Movo passed steadily through the sewers, tunneling deeper and deeper. The Machines, bless their iron hearts, had developed a special sonar that made Sentinels ignore the Movo like a disease. Like a virus.
Smith couldn't help but smile ironically. Had it been only a year since he gave that little speech to Morpheus? Amazing how time scuttled away.
On the thought of Morpheus he frowned. When he did come back to the Matrix, he would indefinitely have to confront him. But not for long, though. He knew that if he personally asked the Council to grant him his own ship, they would no doubt do it. He might not even have to give a reason.
After that, he just needed to return to Machine City under the guise of further negotiating other parts of the Truce. When he arrived, he would deliver the codes to Deus, and his crew would be killed. If he chose, he could return to Zion with the Machines, and witness the destruction of the last human city, maybe even participate. It was his choice, and then…he would be reinserted into the Matrix, and from there, would have the choice of exile or deletion. He could not be trusted to be an actual operating system again. That, and it was against protocol.
Part 2-
His eyes fluttered. His li-
He dropped and dropped and dropped. Down the tunnel.
He collapsed, his body aching beyond movement.
Soon, the pain subsided. He was able to stand, uneasily, on his own two feet.
A voice rang out in the darkness of his own mind. It echoed across the walls of his skull.
"Do you remember your oath?"
He screamed and screamed and screamed. How he wanted the voice to stop.
"Do you remember?"
Even over his own screaming he could hear the voice.
"Feel your face, your hair."
He did. His hair was thing, his face etched with almost artificial feeling skin.
"We created a human out of his residual self image. It took us a lot of work."
What is this? This…this…
"Speak."
"What are y-"
He got that far before the sound of his own voice before both fear and anger jumped up in his stomach.
"Your residual self image remains constant. But you may not have a chance to use it."
He resisted the urge to collapse and forced himself to speak.
"Why am I here?"
"You are our back-up plan. If he strays from his duties, you are to destroy him, ensuring the truce."
He let himself fall to his knees.
"He has your body, and you have his. Rest now, Neo, for your future ends in destruction now or destruction later."
