His breath caught in his throat. It proceeded to rattle around, not doing much, and then finally escaped through his lips in a sharp hiss.

Before him were the dock walls. The doors that led to his future. God, were they ugly.

A voice came up on his headset. It was pleasant and accommodating.

"Zion dock requesting ship identification."

By now Smith had run over the routine so much it came out much like a rehearsed line.

"This is the Movo, formerly the Logos."

The voice spoke again, but this time it spoke with anticipation and anxiety. And slowly, as if the person wanted the receiver to be absolutely sure of the question.

"Is this Neo?"

Smith smiled beside himself. It spread into a shark-like grin of glee. Oh, how wonderful it was to wield the power of Mr. Anderson's name.

"This is."

The line was dormant, than fired up again.

"Approved for dock. Welcome back, Neo."

Smith's smile remained in place as the gates opened, and disappeared just as easily as he saw an immense crowd gathering where he presumably was to dock. It was thick, and Smith could spot no free space between heads. Damn it.

He docked, carefully, and set the ship down lightly on the platform. The crowd swarmed around the ship, trying to get a peek into the cockpit. But Smith was already opening the hatch.

He stood at the doorway, his arms at his side, his legs parallel to his shoulders. The hatchway banged lightly as it touched down on the platform. At first there was nothing but a stunned, revering silence. Then the cheering began.

Fists pumped into the air. Throats soon grew hoarse. And for nearly ten minutes, Smith stood there and took it. He looked over the crowd like a conqueror. He was a god.

But then the crowd suddenly stopped. Smith could discern no reason to stop. But then suddenly, he realized the crowd silenced from the back to the front.

And then he saw him. Guiding through the crowd like a phantom. He never took his eyes away from Smith's, which made Smith extremely uncomfortable.

He was the Moses to the crowds' Red Sea. The tension smudged through the air, making it feel dense and heavy. Smith, beside himself, found it more difficult to breath then usual. Was this Neo's body reacting? Or his own mind?

He finally reached the head of the crowd and the bottom of the hatchway. He looked up at Smith, and Smith down at him.

Morpheus gazed into his eyes for what seemed like hours. Smith tried to keep his face passive, blank. But his hands were becoming clammy. He clenched them tightly into fists. God, this was awkward.

Morpheus squinted slightly. Had he seen something? Had Smith's eyes given it all away? What if he said he wasn't Neo? What if he said this was an imposter, sent from the machines to trick them?

Morpheus tipped his head up slightly, and held his hand out.

"Hello Neo."

Smith wiped his hand quickly on his shirt and grasped Morpheus' hand firmly.

"Hello Morpheus."

They embraced like brothers, and the cheering started up again.