Disclaimer: I own none of the matrix.
A/N: This length more like it?. ;).
As Smith sat there, all alone on the dust coated floor of Room 303, patiently awaiting an answer or for an Agent to come busting through the door, Smith's thought's turned over and over. He had never felt more alone, felt like he had simply aliented everyone because he thought his plan would work, that he would be the Cause and both Zion and the Matrix being destroyed would be the Effect. But, because he had failed, and failed rather fantastically, here he sat without a prayer, his last hope in two Rebel Viruses who had seen that he was truly desperate. Smith began to think hating thoughts, which was nothing new for him, his hate for Mr.Anderson had in the end destroyed him and lead to this, but he had never experienced self-hate. He had never regretted the choices he had made as an Agent, he had always been proud of his choices, always felt they were truly justified, but not now. Now he hated himself for those choices, because it was his own fault his last faint glimmer of hope in the thick black of this strange feeling of self-hate were two Rebels, giving him a half-shot chance.
Smith covered his face in his hands, and he swore he felt like he might begin to cry. He felt that weak. He was giving up hope, the glimmer that was Shadow and Thanatos was disappearing in his mind, being engulfed by the blackness that now infested his world.
His fear was intensifying, building up around his heart, or where his heart should've been. It even over took his feeling of self-hate, it shrouded his mind and his senses. Now fear was the world, fear was flowing through his veins, escaping in his breaths.
It was gripping his 'heart', causing jagged pain in Smith's chest, he cried out gruffly into the emptiness, only the plaster walls heard his pain.
Hope had abandoned him, and fear had taken over every other emotion Smith had become capable of feeling. He couldn't breathe, he felt like he may collapse, and give in to this strange feeling of being engulfed by fear.
Smith thought he would be more than grateful for Death, compared to this, Death was blissful mercy.
Just as Smith felt his conscienceness wavering, and his willpower abandoning him along with the rest of his senses, the door swung violently, teetering on it's rusting hinges.
Smith awoke from his fear engulfed trance, his head feeling swimmy and light, his stomach doing loops, he looked up at the door with a dull, barly there sense of hope.
All sense of hope abandoned him when Agent Johnson stepped through the door, Smith's reflection gleaming in his glasses.
He simply closed his eyes and waited for the sound of a gun shot that would end his pain, and cease his fear.
"Get up." Johnson barked.
Smith felt woozy, his legs felt like they would never support his weight again, and that Johnson would shoot him simply for ignoring such a direct order.
He tried, moving his hands slowly up the wall, to give him some temporary strength and looked at Johnson with his weak, once striking blue eyes.
"Look at yourself, Smith. What have you let yourself become?. You used to be the strongest of all of us, you used to be our leader. You were the great Agent Smith, the best Agent ever made, no one has come close to you, except for me, of course. I do have parts of you in me, which is why this sight disgusts me even more. You have become so weak, so human." The hatrid in Johnson's voice made Smith's blood boil, but he didn't even have the strength to stand, let alone fight a much superior program.
"Just kill me and get it over and done with." Smith said, not taking his tired eyes off his reflection in Johnson's shades.
As Smith stood there, looking at his former colleagues' upgrade, he prayed that Johnson would do as he asked.
He really had no strength left, he didn't even have the strength to care.He would be grateful for a bullet to the brain, anything was better than this. The life of weakness, being controlled and plagued by a relentless fear.
But, Johnson did not produce his Desert Eagle, he didn't even move, didn't even speak. He just stood there, staring, his face emotionless. His hands handing almost lifelessly by his sides, his posture controlled and graceful.
Finally, after what seemed to be a very long time, Johnson spoke, his hatred had evaporated, but it had been replaced by pity.
"You...wish to die?. You would rather be nothing, just a floating, distant memory than face your rightful punishment?. I knew you were weak, but I never dreamed that you were capable of that much weakness." Johnson said with a sigh, as he produced his Desert Eagle from an inside pocket in the jacket of his suit.
Smith leaned against the wall, and waited for mercy to be bestowed upon him. Closing his eyes, waiting for his abrupt end. But, there was nothing. Only silence and the sound of the safety being taken off.
He opened his eyes just in time to hear a gun shot and see the dead coppertop that Johnson had taken over fall to floor with a sickening thud.
He looked in the doorway with only mild curiosity and of course, saw a grinning Shadow.
"I always wanted to do that." He said, grinning.