I watched as the codes changed, the green flame that shaped Brown and Jones flowed and melted away from the human hosts, a process that fascinated me. They lifted away, infinitely far and at the same time a breath away, a contradiction that made sense only within the matrix, seeing layer after layer repeating in endless array, giving three dimensions to one dimensional codes.
The agents codes had stretched and thinned to near invisibility, and as I watched I saw where they led and decided to follow. My vision returned to normal, and I remembered the two that were left with me.
They were huddled a small distance away, talking softly and furtively glancing at me. Catching my gaze the woman approached. Dressed in a gray business suit she said, "It sounds mad, but what's happened here? I had a blackout, and I never have them. Last thing I remember was walking to my car after work in the evening---and now I'm here and it looks like morning!" During the recital the woman's voice rose until it was a near shriek at the end. She covered her mouth with both hands, her face wild and distressed. Her short blonde hair fluttered in the wind.
I said nothing. Listening to her distress made me automatically grab the shades in my coat, and I fought the urge to slip them on. I knew it would be rude, not to mention suspicious, to now wear them, yet the woman made me uncomfortable.
We both stared at one another, the woman's eyes growing larger and expression changing until it became unreadable to me. She turned abruptly and grabbed the sleeve of the other man. "Let's go." It was only when she looked at me again that I understood her emotion. It was panic.
The man frowned at her, and then glared at me. Dressed in an ill-fitting brown suit that bulged around his middle, he jerked his sleeve away from the woman. "Are you the one that caused my blackout?"
"No." I stared at the man, and wondered if he would react oddly. The woman puzzled me, and I found her terror unsettling. I had done nothing to evoke such emotion.
"I don't believe you. You're hiding something!" The man's moon-like face turned a dark shade of red, and his beefy hand reached out to grab me.
I took a couple of steps away, deciding it was easier to avoid confrontation. I moved quickly, letting the world's motion slow a fraction, and watched the man's futile attempt to grab my coat.
He tried it several times, fingers missing my coat by only fractions of an inch. His face turned a darker red as he screamed increasingly foul words as he hysterically reached for me and missed. On his last attempt he literally ran at me, his vast bulk lurching forward uncontrollably, gravel flying at his charge until his legs hit the roof's ledge. It was a ledge that I had easily hopped over, to stand on air. In his attempt to catch me the man saw the danger too late.
His motion stopped for a second, arms comically wind milling in hopes of halting his onward plunge then he toppled over, falling toward the alley below. I grabbed his business jacket, pulling him back to the roof and tossed him toward the woman. The man fell on his back and moved feebly, stunned.
"You're not human," the woman said as she knelt beside the prone body of the man. During the whole confrontation she only watched, never taking her eyes off me for a second.
"Why believe that?" I was curious how she came to that conclusion.
"Y-your feet. They haven't touched the roof since I've been here."
I looked down, and realized what she meant. Between the bottom of my soles and the roof were several inches of air. The sensory impression in the matrix was so rich and diverse, that to limit my exposure I had lifted myself off the gravel, and never noticed it.
"I'm human enough to make a mistake." I felt embarrassed: an uncomfortable emotion. I wondered if I should let my feet rest on the gravel, but realized the damage was already done, and stayed as I was.
"What are you?" the man was now sitting up, staring at me with crazed eyes. "Are you an alien?"
"Not really." To say any more would involve explanations about the matrix, something the Architect had forbidden. Yet the terror and speculation in the their eyes distressed me, and tore my inner emptiness a little larger.
The woman pulled back as the man scrambled to his feet. "I'm going home," he said without looking at either of us. Gravel crunching as he moved, he stood in front of the entrance I arrived from then jerked the door open. A stairwell greeted my sight. He walked in and held the door open as the woman stood up and walked toward him.
"Are you going to follow us?" the woman's voice trembled, as she paused to stare at me.
"No. You'll never see me again." The relief on her face was painful to see. I watched the door close on them, and stood in silence, listening to the noise of the city. The sound, remote and rumbling soothed my inner turmoil.
My first contact with humanity was --- disquieting. And I wondered what memory of humans could be so terrible to be erased by the Architect.
Moments later I flew away.
>>>>>>>>
"Smith!" Morpheus whispered. He was momentarily surprised that he hadn't recognized the ex-agent, until he saw the reason why.
The area surrounding the program was blurred by shadows, a murky halo that warped form and hid details, blending with his business suit. As Smith stalked forward, the dark swirled around him, trailing from his motion like a cloak, pieces breaking off to disappear in the sunlight.
Against that gloom the ashen triangle of Smith' shirt looked like a paper cutout, its whiteness a support for his pallid face. The shades covering his eyes hollowed out his features, giving his face a gaunt, skull-like look.
"Well, well. Morpheus," Smith's voice was jarring because of its calm tone, the thin smile given to an acquaintance, not mortal enemies. "No dramatic statement or action?"
"Just this," said Morpheus. Both guns aimed at the program's chest, and he shot at least ten times until the clips was empty.
Smith dodged them all.
"Ineffective and pathetic, Morpheus. I expected better from you," he said after the last bullet. "Did you really think you could hurt me?"
"Realistically, no. But I thought they might." Morpheus said. Smith turned, a moment too late, and the agents caught his arms. Smith swiveled his head to study each program, his eyebrow raised in interest. The dark that clothed Smith had faded to nothing, and the ex-agent frowned as he spoke.
"Well, well. Agents Brown and Jones. Did the Architect send you to stop me?" Smith added with subtle distaste, "Or did he think to influence my 'human' emotions?"
"Smith, we're---I'm sorry," the smaller agent said. "The mainframe ordered---" Both agent and ex-agent lock gazes for a second, and then the agent dropped his head. "I'm sorry."
But Morpheus saw that despite everything said, the agents held Smith firmly in his grip. Conscious of his uncertain status within the matrix, Morpheus wondered if he should quietly escape, yet the drama unfolding before him was too compelling to miss.
"It's an agent's purpose," Smith said. "To follow the orders given by the mainframe." His voice contained faint traces of desolation and grief and left its stamp on his face.
"Silence, Anomaly," the taller agent said. "The Architect has ordered your deletion." His hand held a knife that glittered blindingly in the sun.
In the weapon's presence, the deadly rage and arrogance that normally cloaked Smith suddenly appeared and wiped his face free of all emotion. Seeing it, Morpheus instinctively went for his weapons, aborting the movement on remembering the guns were empty.
"Deletion?" Smith said. "Oh, I think not. Permit me to demonstrate a skill I recently acquired. One courtesy of Mr. Anderson." Darkness suddenly boiled around the renegade, a dark that latched onto the other agents to frame them for a second, until the two agents cried out in shock at what happened next.
Blue lightning flared over the two agents, changing their forms. The impressive agents shrank to white-haired old men, who clutched Smith's sleeves in disorientation.
"I won't be interrupted." Smith grabbed the old men by the scruff of their collars and flung them away. "Especially by obsolete human hosts." They landed on a suburban lawn twenty feet away. From the unnatural sprawl of limbs Morpheus knew they were dead.
Glancing downward, Morpheus saw the knife at his feet. Before he could even blink, Smith swooped down to pick up the knife, studying it.
"Hmm. The code in this weapon is dangerous," Smith mused. "Even to me." He dropped the weapon and stepped on it.
The knife blade shattered in a flash of green light along with Morpheus' emotional detachment. Conscious of the menace in the program's gaze, he realized the danger he was now in.
Flight was the only safe choice, yet with Smith just a couple of paces away, impossible to achieve. His chances of escape were nil, yet the thought of quietly surrendering went against everything he held dear. And while he had no hope for escape, he knew Niobe would easily evade Smith if the program was occupied with someone else.
So Morpheus attacked.
Savagely he threw punches, kicks that would've disabled any ordinary human. Smith easily countered every attack, making no attempt to retaliate, his expression hinting of boredom. Morpheus switched tactics and head butted the program, doing only enough damage to slightly skew the glasses on Smith's face and change the boredom to distain.
The next punch Morpheus threw Smith pulled and twisted at his left arm, dislocating it from the shoulder. And then Smith kicked his right kneecap, crushing bone with a sudden snap.
Morpheus tumbled away from the program in shock, falling on his back.
Smith calmly adjusted his shades and straightened his tie then pulled at his cuffs, indifferent to the fallen man. Suit and appearance flawless he then bent down to grasp Morpheus' coat lapels and pulled him carelessly to his feet.
Morpheus fought back a scream as his arm and leg started to blaze with pain at the movement. He tried to ignore the ache, compartmentalized it, knowing the throbbing pain would increase as the shock wore off. While the agony from his dislocated shoulder was great, it was nothing compared to the fire radiating from his shattered knee.
Morpheus was glad that the program kept his fist holding onto his coat, otherwise he knew he couldn't stand. His balance was uncertain as he wobbled on one leg, and his shattered knee grated in protest while the pain flared and flared again at every minute shift in balance. He heard Smith speaking, his voice a remote buzz in waves of mounting pain.
"It's surprising how fragile the human body and mind is." Smith said contemplatively. "Even you unplugged humans, you 'Zionist' who knows the truth of the unreality of this place, even you are affected by its rules. Especially the rules of pain, of death." Smith paused, and a small silence followed.
"Your point?" Morpheus rasped. He noted with interest that his agony had changed the surrounding to a greenish color, edged with a creeping black. Smith's face was looming moon in a darkening landscape, bisected with two black holes for eyes.
"Agents are programmed with the knowledge of how to inflict pain. And you feel pain, don't you Morpheus? Pain even when you know that you were never crippled, never injured in your real world. Part of you knows it's not real, while the other, well, the other part is ready to pass out from the agony."
"I can't allow that, I won't allow that. Time is not on my side." Darkness engulfed Morpheus' sight. For a second Morpheus thought he blacked out, until he felt a sharp flaring cold radiate from his knee. The freeze was immense but disappeared as the dark faded away, and with it all his pain from his knee. Sunlight and the world returned.
Blinking, Morpheus stared at Smith, who released his coat and took a few steps away from him. Looking down at his right knee, he cautiously shifted balance, surprised at the absence of agony. "Smith… what did you do? My knee- it doesn't hurt anymore. You healed it?" pain from his shoulder throbbed, a reminder that not all was well.
"I simply reordered the codes in your knee. Don't fool yourself into thinking I did it out of any kindness. I needed you aware, not unconscious from shock."
"Believe me, I'd never assume you capable of kindness." Morpheus said. Smith thinly smiled in response.
"Now, where were we Morpheus? Oh yes. You needed to assert your superiority over me, after which I disabuse you of that notion along with that of my ex-colleagues. Now that's finished, I plan to interrogate you—and this time," cold intensity burned through the dark glasses. "I will not be as patient or kind."
"You can ask your questions, Smith." Morpheus said. "But the question is---will I answer? I think not."
"Please. I know you would rather die before answering my question," Smith slipped off his shades and stared contemplatively at him. Morpheus felt a stab of unease, where once the ex-agent seemed a psychotic with fits of unmanageable rage, this Smith was---in control, and many times more dangerous. An expression of bitter amusement flickered briefly on the program's face. "Would it perhaps help to say that the information I seek wouldn't harm anyone from Zion?"
"No." At his reply Smith slipped his shades back on.
"As I expected." Smith's quiet, matter-of-fact tone was chilling "Therefore, I will take my answer anyway. And if we're interrupted by your friends, I will kill them—very painfully—as you watch."
Morpheus' eyes narrowed. "I will die before I reveal any information, Smith. I will never talk."
"Never?" Smith's voice slightly mocked. "But my method had nothing to do with your talking. And everything to do with your thinking about the information I need."
"What?"
"The code of a person's thoughts can be easily read, especially by one who sees the matrix, and thereby controls it."
"Impossible! Even Neo—"
"Zion's savior had the ability, Morpheus. He never had the time or desire to develop it. I did. It's yet another skill I acquired from him, and was given quite willingly, I might add."
"You're lying, Smith! Neo would never—"
"What makes you think I would do such a human thing as lie, Morpheus?" Smith said, then lifted his eyebrow in surprise. "You suspect the Oracle has lied to you? How interesting."
Morpheus stared in quietly dawning horror, as the program continued, shaking his head in derisive sympathy.
"No, the Oracle has never spoken a word of untruth, but what she never said---that could fill mountains."
"I will not believe—"
"Believe what you wish, I don't care. I only want the answer to my question." Smith said. The shadows devoured the sunlight to enfold both in a private darkness. Morpheus turned to escape, regardless of consequences, but Smith grabbed and wrenched his dislocated arm, evicting a strangled scream from clenched teeth. The program seized his collar, dragging Morpheus' head forward to whisper in his ear.
"Where is he? Where is Mr. Anderson?"
Morpheus froze in shock, pain forgotten at the question. Smith released his collar, stepping away, the darkness fading into bright sunlight, and watched the Zionist.
"Where is he?" repeated Morpheus, feeling a smile twist his mouth. He saw the program glare at him, and knew that Smith was reading his thoughts.
On Smith's face was a grimace of rage and frustration. "Are you insane? There is so such place in the matrix."
And Morpheus, quite out of character, began to laugh.
tbc
Next: Falling
