Prisoner of War
Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix, the Matrix owns me.
Summary: Well it's been awhile since the last update, and for that, dear readers I apologize. I've been collaborating on another story with fellow author Akenaten. But fear not, I have taken the time to write another installment.
When we last left our anti-hero, Agent Smith had just visited with his mother the Oracle and as result received some very disconcerting news about the possible fate of Esmeralda. Because of this he has declared war against his father, the Architect and the system itself to protect the rebel he has grown to love. Now he has become the very thing that he swore to hunt down, a fugitive, a rebel within the system. Will Smith prevail or will the Source have the last laugh? Read on to find out…
Author's Note: Thank you to all of my loyal readers for your kind words of encouragement! You guys are the best! Especially you Linda, words cannot begin to express the gratitude I feel for your continued support and friendship!
This chapter is written in second person format from Esmeralda's POV.
Chapter Five
Fugitives of the System
"Let me go! Stop hurting me, you goddamned machine!" you yell out into the immeasurable darkness of the night. The sound of your voice gets lost in the howling ferocious wind thrashing all around you. The sunless sky above has now turned blood red as violent streaks of lightening slice through the thickness of the clouds leaving gaping wounds in the heavens. You pray for the inevitable promise of rain to fall and pelt your broken body with its celestial tears of wretchedness. God however denies you His mercy, turning a blind eye away from this hollow lifeless world. It is an arid wasteland reeking of death, echoing the abysmal misery you feel inside. With each cruel thrust from the cyborg, another piece of your humanity falls away and dies. The thing above you, inside you continues its assault of your body, deaf to your cries for clemency. As you look into its terrible eyes, you come to the horrific realization that it is relentless, purposeful and driven to destroy you.
Somewhere inside your ravaged mind, lies the knowledge that the horror you are experiencing is merely a dream, it has to be, and yet…
…why does it feel so real?
"Your mind makes it real;" a woman's voice tells you. Despite the woeful moans of the wind you hear her voice as clear as a bell.
"No, it's just a dream!" you exclaim.
"Life is but a dream, Esmeralda,"the voice whispers softly into your ear.It sounds eerily familiar.
"It's a dream, just a dream. Oh God, somebody wake me up! Make it stop!" you beg desperately.
"Esmeralda, listen to me! You must get back to Zion at all costs!" the woman says urgently.
Suddenly the clarity of recognition strikes you like a bolt of lightening prompting you to ask, "Oracle, is that you?"
"Remember child, no matter what Smith tells you, you must get out of the Matrix! Both of your lives depend upon it!" she replies with an insistent tone.
Bewildered by her cryptic message you inquire, "I don't understand! What is going on?"
Ignoring your question, the Oracle simply states, "On the count of three you'll wake up. Ready?"
"One."
"No wait! I need to know about Smith!" you cry out.
"Two."
Pleading with her, you shout, "Oracle! Please help me!"
"Three!"
llllll
You awaken with a primal scream, the sound pierces through the dead silence of the empty hotel room. Despite the cool ambient temperature created by the central air-conditioning system, sweat drips off your body, saturating the bedding you are laying upon. Your heart beats rapidly within your chest with chaotic percussion. The palpitations from the pumping organ are so powerful, you're afraid it will rip through the cavity that houses it. Clutching the bed sheets within your hands, your eyes frantically dart about the room as your vision adjusts to the lack of natural light. You soon realize that it is now night and that your nightmare is over.
How long have I been asleep, you wonder. Carefully you try to sit upright but the sharp pain from your head wound impedes your efforts. Again you make the attempt to sit up and this time you succeed. Despite the aches and pains that tear at your body, you manage to swing your legs over the side of the bed.
Placing a tentative foot upon the floor, it makes contact with the plush Persian rug lying next to the four poster bed. The floor covering feels warm underneath the sole of your foot, offering you the perfect amount of padding in the event you should take a nasty tumble. After a moment's hesitation you place your other foot on the rug, bracing your hands on the edge of the mattress. Ever so slowly, you stand.
Feeling a bit woozy you wait until the lightheadedness subsides before taking your first step. Cautiously you venture forth, placing one foot in front of the other with your arms extended away from your body in an effort to keep your balance. The room is dark and despite your best efforts to fine-tune your vision, you can scarcely see anything at all. You cast your mournful eyes towards the barely visible bathroom door, which it is only a few feet in front of you, but it seems like miles away.
"I can make it, I have to," you tell yourself, steeling your resolve.
Desperation and pain fuel the overwhelming desire to get your hands on the Demerol hidden away in the medicine chest and quell your agony. So you quicken your lumbering steps, however, you soon discover, that it is a near fatal mistake. Equilibrium or lack thereof, betrays your sense of balance causing you to trip over your own feet. You fall face first into the thick hand-woven material with a muffled thud.
"Shit, shit, shit!" you growl with frustrated anguish. You try once more to peel yourself off the floor but the weight of your own body prevents you from doing so. Then suddenly the unmistakable sound of the hotel suite door opening forces you to cease from flailing about on the floor like a dying mackerel. A few moments later, the harsh illumination from the hallway chandelier cuts into the room temporarily blinding your eyes.
Panic ensues when you hear a deliberate methodical baritone call out to you, "Esmeralda, I'm back."
You can't run hell you can't even crawl away, so you lie there in wait. God what I wouldn't give to have my trusty Remington right now, you think regretfully, wishing that you possessed your firearm for protection. But alas you are helpless, defenseless against the darkly clad figure that is fast approaching you.
"Esmeralda!" Agent Smith exclaims, obviously surprised that you are out of bed.
"Get away from me you monster!" you snarl up at him as you try to lift your torso off the floor.
Ignoring what you've just said, Smith lowers himself to sit back on his haunches. Gently he places his hand on your face as his riveting blues eyes, heavy with concern, look upon you. Recoiling from his touch, you hock back a loogie then propel it into his face. Fear grips you when you see a flash of anger in his eyes, but instead of lashing out at you for soiling him with saliva and mucus, Agent Smith merely retrieves a handkerchief from his jacket and proceeds to wipe himself clean.
Afterwards, he tosses the soiled cloth aside then reaches out to scoop you up effortlessly into his powerful arms. Lifting himself into an upright position, he takes you with him. Furious that he has dared to touch you, you begin to pummel him with pitiable little blows about the shoulders and face. Again he ignores your feeble efforts to defend yourself.
"Leave me alone! Can't you just leave me alone?" you howl like a wounded animal.
Smith offers no reply or explanation for his actions as he continues to cradle you in his arms. He just stares at you with those eyes, those hauntingly beautiful eyes that just moments ago were soulless pits of hell.
But that was in your dream, Isis, you remind yourself. Progressively the blows become weaker and weaker, your strength fleeting. Soon you tire as you limply submit to his strength.
Silently and with the stoic reverence of a monk, he carries you into the bathroom, stopping briefly to flip the light switch that is to his right. Immediately the room is filled with the soft glow of the overhead lighting, and yet you shield your eyes from the light with your hand.
Finally he speaks his voice grimly firm, "Esmeralda, we need to leave. I will help you get ready, but you must not fight me. Time is against us so we must hurry."
"What are you saying? Why do we have to leave?" you ask angrily. You can't help but notice that he has kept his rugged face in profile refusing to look at you directly.
"Agents are coming and when they get here I don't know what they'll do, but it will most certainly not be pleasant." Still he looks straight ahead. This annoys you immensely so you grab his chin in your hand and sharply turn his head to face you.
Drilling your hazel eyes into his you say, "I don't get it! You're the head agent, you're their leader! Why would the machines turn on one of their own?"
Smith looks at you as he contemplates what his response will be. His uneasy hesitation fascinates you, because he seems so lost, so vulnerable, so human. Still you wait for him to say something, anything that could explain away all that has happened to you.
Then suddenly comes his unsettling reply, "I have decided to not to be an agent of the system any longer."
What he's just said sounds so incredibly ridiculous that you almost see the humor in it.
"So you've decided to retire and they are going to kill you for it? Some send-off Agent Smith," you sardonically tell him.
Sarcasm unfortunately is lost on this sentient program, only managing to anger him. You are startled when you feel him tighten his grip on you.
"Esmeralda, I don't have the patience for your trivial human absurdity! Don't you understand? I've turned my back on the system, renounced everything that I am to wage war against the one that gave me life!"
"Why?" you shout into his face as your anger reaches its boiling point.
"I had to! That is all you need to know right now!" Smith yells back, he too has reached the limits of his patience.
His answer is unsatisfactory and you let him know it, "Why would you do such a thing? Tell me, I have to know!"
Smith's fury erupts with a volcanic force; you can see it in his burning eyes. Clutching you viciously against his hard body he hisses between clenched teeth, "Because of you, Esmeralda, I did all this because of you!"
The gravity of his words makes you tremble, as the warm salty moisture of a lone tear rolls down your cheek.
Because of you, Esmeralda!
"Smith…," you begin to say.
But Smith cuts you off as he roars, "Save it, I don't want your pity! Now you listen to me! We have run out of options for the moment, we have to go, now!"
Because of you, he gave up all that he is, says the little voice in your head
"I don't believe you and I'm not going anywhere except back to Zion!" you say with quiet defiance.
Because of you, he has taken lives. Ramses, Ptolemy and Ra all died, murdered by Smith. They were murdered, so that he can get to you. Yes, he is a cold blooded killer, but there's another side to him. You've seen it, and there's no denying it.
"If you don't do what I say right now, you will not live to see your precious Zion again!" Agent Smith says with unyielding conviction.
Because of you he will take many more lives to keep you safe. Why would he go through so much trouble, why would he risk everything for this one chance to have you? Could it be that he does feel something? No, it's not possible. Smith is not a man, he's not real and yet why do you feel so safe in his arms? You are comforted by the warmth radiating from his body, as his scent intoxicates and sooths you all at once.
But my dream! In my dream Smith was exposed for what he really is – a machine, cold, calculating and inhuman! He was a monster!
Forget the dream kid! Look at him! Does he look like a monster? I didn't think so! So guess what girl? Yes, you figured it out, it's time to fish or cut bait! It's time to make your choice.
In your minds eye you see yourself at a crossroads, and there are two very different paths. One is the road that leads back to Zion, the other goes down a path towards an ambiguous destiny. You are plagued with the certainty that no matter which one you choose it will change your life forever.
It's all comes down to choice, the Oracle once said to you, not knowing then how those words would come back to haunt you now.
However you've already made your decision, actually it was pretty easy considering the circumstances surrounding it. Somehow part of you knows that it was all going to go down this way, you have always known. There's no going back now, as you place yourself at the threshold of the unknown, the point of no return.
Looking into Smith's pain filled eyes you take in a deep breath and say, "I won't fight you. For now I'll go willingly."
Smith's eyes widen in complete surprise as you notice a slight smile play on his lips. However the smile is soon replaced by scowl when he hears you sternly say, "But when we get to wherever it is we're going you will promise to tell me everything or I swear to God I will run to the first exit I can find!"
At first he says nothing so you drive your point home, "I mean it Smith, if you don't tell me everything, I'm gone! Now promise me!"
He remains silent for a few moments then mumbles almost incoherently, "I promise."
lllll
Thanks to Agent Smith you are now refreshed and ready to leave. With the greatest of care, he not only bathed you, he had also redressed your wound and administered the pain killer with the expertise of a field medic. Once or twice you had dared to sneak a peek at him as his well manicured hands had washed your body only to be ensnared in his hungry gaze. However in spite of the obvious lust in his azure eyes, he had made no sexual overtures. Smith, much to your chagrin, had been the consummate gentleman.
Even in your injured state, you still had appreciated his tender touch especially when his long fingers had brushed lightly over your breasts. Smith had pretended not to notice when your nipples became taut and erect, but you still had seen the desire etched on his face, however brief it was.
When the bath had ended, he had cautiously lifted you out of the claw-foot tub then dried you off with a thick soft towel. Smith had been meticulous yet gentle, not missing a single inch of your skin. Wrapping a clean warm towel around you, he had then applied a fresh dressing on your wound as you sat on the closed lid of the commode.
Afterward Smith had led you back into the main part of the suite then turned his back so that you could dress yourself in the new clothes that had been laid out on the bed. You were amazed that the simple outfit of faded denim jeans and white cotton blouse fit you perfectly. As you zipped up your black leather ankle high boots, you had suddenly noticed that the lights had been switched on, allowing you to fully take in the splendiferous grandeur of the room.
All you could do was gape like a wide eyed child at the trappings that were fit for no less than royalty. However, the crowing jewel in the lavishly elegant space had been the spectacular view of Mega City which could be seen through the enormous floor to ceiling windows. The cityscape, which dominated the night sky, had been absolutely breathtaking. Cautiously, you had walked over to the windows to get a better look.
lllll
Now as you stand back and stare at the shining beacon of the Matrix's glory you say to no one in particular, "It's beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you," you hear Smith say causing you to whirl around. The agent is standing directly behind you. It is actually a good thing that he is because you are suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of dizziness. You fall forward right into the security of his waiting arms.
"Are you all right?" he asks you anxiously as his hand cups your cheek.
"Yes," you answer meekly. Suddenly you are acutely aware that his face is only hairsbreadth from yours. Sucking in a breath, you notice that he's inching in closer to you, closing the breach between you. As your heart quickens its pace, you can almost feel his warm moist lips on yours.
The anticipation builds as you are mesmerized by his hypnotic stare. You then close your eyes, pout your lips and wait for the delicious sensation of his mouth devouring yours passionately.
You soon discover however, that the kiss will have to wait as the two of you are abruptly interrupted by the explosive sound of the suite's door being kicked in. Your eyes fly open, but you are not given a chance to react when you feel Agent Smith push you down to the floor. Quickly you crawl behind a large potted palm tree to get out of harm's way.
"If you want to live, stay down there! I'll handle this!" he orders you. Smith then turns around to confront the two agents that are now standing inside the suite with their weapons drawn. From your vantage point behind the palm tree, you cannot discern their identities right away.
"Former Agent Smith," you hear one of them start to say. "You are under arrest for violation of Matrix Statute 39-18. If you come with us quietly then no harm will befall you or the rebel."
"Well, well Agent Jones, I'm impressed. You may have actually done some real detective work this time to find me. On the other hand, I'm all too familiar with your level of incompetence. The only way you could have learned of my whereabouts is if you had been tipped off by our mutual acquaintance, the Frenchman."
"Your arrogance won't save you this time, Smith," you hear a much younger male voice say. "You either leave with us now, peacefully or your rebel whore leaves in a body bag. Your choice, it really doesn't matter to me. Either way, you will face the Source!"
So Smith wasn't lying, you tell yourself, completely convinced now that he is a wanted man and they've come to kill him and you.
At this point you are terrified but in spite of this, you dare to slowly peek out from behind the foliage to see what is going on. The scene being played out before you is something that you thought you'd never see: an agent standoff. For what seems like an infinite amount of time Smith and his former colleagues just stare at one another, like statuesque gunslingers of the Old West, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Then you hear Smith scoff incredulously, "You can't possibly think that you can beat me."
Agent Jones replies, "We've trained under your tutelage, and as you well know Agent Brown and I were apt pupils. You taught us everything we needed to know about conflict and hand to hand combat and we learned our lessons well, too well. After having sparred with you hundreds of times we can predict your every maneuver and match you blow for blow. Face facts, Smith you can't win."
Your eyes widen as you see Smith reach up to grab the lapels of his suit jacket then twist his head to one side to give his neck bones a good resounding crack.
Then icily he declares, "Yes it's true I did teach you everything you know, but herein lies the problem: I didn't teach you everything that I know!"
Then in a blur of aggressive movement Smith viciously advances on the larger of his two opponents to deliver a powerful punch directly into the center of Agent Jones' midsection. The force of the impact causes Jones to drop his Desert Eagle, his dark sunglasses fly off his face as he is propelled to the opposite side of the room embedding his body into the wall. Jones is momentarily stunned but as expected, he quickly removes himself from his plaster and drywall entombment leaving an agent shaped hole in the wall like a Warner Brothers cartoon.
All you can do is watch from the sidelines, captivated as you bear witness to this battle between two very powerful programs. If the gargantuan agent had been human, the impact from Smith's fist would have certainly damaged most of his vital organs, but since Jones is a machine, he doesn't even flinch. You gasp loudly as you observe Smith attack again, deploying a series of kicks and punches so rapid they appear almost invisible to the human naked eye.
However your heart sinks as you helplessly watch every one of Smith flawless maneuvers expertly blocked by his hulking ex-subordinate. During the struggle, furniture is smashed into worthless pieces of lumber. Lamps, crystal vases and the fire place poker all become lethal projectiles as they are hurtled through the air. It doesn't surprise you though when both agents manage to duck and dodge averting every object thatis being thrown at them. The remaining walls are pulverized as a result of the two agents slamming each other into them leaving pieces of plaster and a thick layer of white dust all over the room. Undaunted, Agent Smith continues his assault as he tries to bring the large agent down, but Jones proves to be a fearsome combatant, even when Smith lands a bone crushing kick on what appears to be the other agent's larynx.
Jones reaches down to grab Smith by the ankle and manages to twist it away from his throat. Then with a mighty grunt he thrusts out his large hand and wraps it tightly around Agent Smith's own neck. Lifting him off the ground, Jones begins to squeeze in an attempt to strangle the host body that houses Smith's essence. Horrified, you watch as Smith's body is starting to go into convulsions, twitching uncontrollably as he fights to stay alive struggling for air.
You are suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to help him, but how? How could you possibly save Smith when you are wounded?
I've got to try something or I'll die too, you tell yourself. Then that's when you see it, gleaming on the plush carpet like a mirage in the desert, Agent Jones' discarded weapon. If you can only reach it you might be able to get off a couple of rounds and manage to distract him long enough for him to ease his death grip on Smith. There's only one problem…where's the other agent?
Quickly enough you get your answer as the cold of hard steel of Agent Brown's weapon is being pushed into the back of your skull. Your head roars with pain, almost making you pass out from the discomfort. Next you feel Agent Brown's hot breath in your ear as he hisses, "Going somewhere, Miss Campos? I don't think you'll get very far."
You begin to tremble as you feel his free arm wrap itself around your waist then he swiftly pulls you to him, lockingyou into position with your back against his front. You struggle to get away, but you know that it is a vain attempt so you eventually give up.
"Agent Jones," you hear Brown say to his colleague, "turn Smith towards me. I want the last thing he sees to be the death of this rebel scum!" Jones promptly obliges the junior agent's request by whirling Smith around to face you and Brown. Judging from the bluish tint of Smith's face he will soon be forced to leave his host body and find another or he will cease to exist. Either way you would be left alone to face whatever fate has in store for you.
Oh God, I can't go out like this, no not like this, your mind frantically tells you. Sheer panic and the will to survive kicks into overdrive, instinct takes over as all coherent thought abandons you. With the last bit of your energy you tighten your hand into a small solid fist, then when Brown is least expecting it you savagely drive it into the most vulnerable part of a man's body, his groin.
You've taken a huge risk by doing this, gambling on the theory that if Agent Smith's programming has been equipped with anatomically correct male genitalia, then other agents might possess the same accoutrements.
When you hear Brown's pitiful whelp then feel his grip fall away you know that your gamble has paid off. You dare to cast a backwards glance over your right shoulder to make sure that Brown has truly been hurt. To your great relief he is writhing in pain on the floor. You have no time however to enjoy your momentary triumph. You have to get to that Desert Eagle before Jones finishes Smith off then turns his attentions on you.
As quick as flash you dive to the floor towards the gun. Jones sees what your intentions are and tries to thwart you but in order to do so he must let Smith go, which he does by tossing him aside like a rag doll. You land on the carpet with a heavy thud, your hand is outstretched ready to snatch your prize, but Jones, thanks to his agent abilities has grabbed the gun first. You go for the Desert Eagle anyway and soon you find yourself grappling for the gun with a being much more powerful than yourself.
Rolling around on the carpet with Agent Jones, you try desperately to wrench the firearm away from him. Then in the heat and confusion of the scuffle you unexpectedly hear the unmistakable sound of a gun going off.
One sickening thought seeps into your consciousness, dominating you, fuck I'm hit!
But you soon realize that is not the case at all when you see a perfect round little exit wound in the center of what once was Agent Jones' forehead. Said forehead now belonged to the recently deceased body of a middle aged African American male that had served as his host.
Before you could even register what was happening you see Smith rise to his feet. Despite the fact that he was almost throttled to death, he appears unfazed by his ordeal. With his smoking Desert Eagle drawn out in front him you begin to understand the nature of Jones' untimely albeit temporary demise. Smith had managed to fire his weapon, sending Agent Jones' programming in search for another host to inhabit.
Wide-eyed, you watch as a fully recovered Smith callously steps over the dead human's corpse then heads in Agent Brown's direction. The young agent is still rolling around on the floor with both of his hands cupped protectively in front of his crotch. As he moans in agony his side arm and sunglasses are lying on the floor next to him momentarily forgotten.
Smith has made quick work of closing the gap between himself and his former junior subordinate. He now stands next to the whimpering Brown, looming above him ready to unleash the wrath that you see burning in the depths of his steely blue eyes.
Smith's next words send shivers up and down your spine as he addresses Brown with an icy emotionless monotone, "I told you that you couldn't beat me. Now go and tell Father that he will meet his end soon enough. But your end, dear brother, is closer than you think. Too bad it is only temporary. See you in the next life!"
Horrified by his callousness, you observe Smith squeeze the trigger of his weapon to dispense a single bullet in the dead center of Agent Brown's chest cavity. The shot kills his host instantly. As Brown is forced to flee the carcass of his host, he leaves behind the dead body of an Asian woman.
Again you are left with no time to digest what has just transpired as you feel Smith pull you up by your forearms.
"We don't have much time. I'm pretty sure that Brown and Jones have replaced their host bodies and they are going to come back to finish what they started! We've got to get out of here!" Agent Smith says tensely.
You nod in agreement then say, "Yes let's go. I'd rather be a fugitive of the system than be here when those two assholes show up again!"
"Well said, Esmeralda. Now let's get going!" he counters back. The next thing you know you are hurriedly being led out of the now decimated hotel suite, its elegant décor reduced to rubble as a result of the recent altercation. As you step through the door towards a reality full of uncertainty you realize that you will be facing great peril at every turn. Nevertheless the knowledge that Smith will be facing the same dangers by your side strangely comforts you.
Then as you both take the stairs down towards the parking garage the Oracle's foreboding words bubble up to the surface of your mind:
Remember child, no matter what Smith tells you, you must get out of the Matrix! Both of your lives depend upon it!
Logic tells you that it is an omen of doom and you must take heed. Your heart however has already sealed your fate. It is at this moment that you come to the dreadful yet wonderful conclusion that you have been railing against all this time…
You have fallen hopelessly in love with the most unlikely of creatures: a sentient program. It is a betrayal against Zion, humanity and most importantly against the ideals that you've always held so near and dear to your heart. Now there will be hell to pay.
As you follow Agent Smith down the stairs, your mind formulates a single thought:
God help me. God help us all.
End Chapter Five