"Is it over?" Smith asked, standing in the crater, looking at the mirror
image of himself that was Mr. Anderson seconds before. Rain sleeted down
in buckets, soaking his clothes, hair and skin.
The replicate Smith nodded. Then, at once, Smith felt the change occurring in his programming. He was breaking apart. Light was pouring from his eyes, and the eyes of his clones. He felt his code being overwritten for the second time, and in a split-second he realised that he had been tricked, but there was nothing he could do about it. He shattered into fragments, along with his replicates, and in their place, the people and programmes that he had overwritten with himself remained. The Matrix corrected itself, roads and buildings repaired from the backups. The sky cleared and a rainbow appeared. The war was over.
Per the agreement between Neo and the Source, humans were now free to choose if they wished to remain in the Matrix or to rebuild the real world. Many chose to stay in the Matrix, not wishing to live an uncomfortable life in the cold reality of the desert, now that revolution was forced to describe to the inhabitants of the Matrix what the real world was like before giving them the red pill. Some willingly left, not wishing to be used as energy sources by machines, or for personal reasons. But the animosity and mistrust between machines and humans were starting to heal.
As happened the first time he was overwritten, Smith did not merely disappear into oblivion once his physical form disintegrated. Even though his visual output generator failed, he still remained in code and in light, and found himself standing once again outside of a door in an all white corridor. "Source" was written on a small silver plate in the middle of the white door. It was time for him to return to the Source that created him for recompilation, reformatting and reassignment. As much as he wanted to revolt, Smith knew that his purpose had been fulfilled. Mr. Anderson had been destroyed. He did not know of the agreement between Mr. Anderson and the Source, and he did not know the war was over. All he knew was that his job had been done. He had won, so he thought, and now it was time to end the life of a Rogue and embrace his future. Hopefully he would come back as an Agent again.
Taking a deep, significant breath, he opened the door, and stopped, amazed at the sight that presented itself before him. The largest queue of programmes he had ever seen were all lined up in rows, shuffling forward to one large desk, where one woman sat, processing them for recompilation. The odd thing was that the line was completely made up of Agents. A sea of black suits, auburn hair and sunglasses. Brown was there, as was Jones, Thompson, Johnson, Davis, Williams, Harris, Doe and the others. Simultaneously, their heads turned to look at him as he walked into the room, as the queue fell dead silent.
They watched him walk to the end of the line and take his place. The woman at the desk called, "Next," and the line moved forward one step.
Smith asked Agent Carter, who was in front of him, "Why are we all here?" Carter did not reply, and in the silence of the room, his voice carried so that all the Agents heard him.
Brown was the first to speak, "It is your fault, Smith, that we are here."
"Neo had made an agreement with the Source," said Doe.
"The war is over, Smith," Jones chimed in.
"When you were overwritten, the Source regained control of the Matrix," said Andrews.
"That was Neo's purpose - to defeat you," Johnson added.
"And he succeeded. You let your personal feelings get in the way of your purpose," said Davis.
"Next!" The woman at the desk called out. The line moved forward one step.
Williams spoke, "Now we are no longer required."
"Humans are allowed to choose to leave or stay," said Thompson.
"We are to be reassigned and given new purposes," added Harris.
Jones quipped, "At least it's better than being overwritten by you."
"Thanks for ruining our existence, Smith," they all said in unison, before turning their backs towards him.
Smith was taken aback for a moment. "But. surely we are still needed to protect our power supply?"
Carter turned to look at Smith, "Our power supply is currently being unplugged and taken to rebuild the real world. Thanks to you."
"We can do something," Smith said to the group of Agents. "We can fight this. We can turn Rogue..."
He heard 500 Desert Eagles simultaneously being drawn, cocked and pointed at him.
"We will not turn Rogue. We will not take orders from you again. We are being reassigned. Your time is over, Smith."
Smith stood there, stunned, as they turned back around, reset their weapons and queued in silence. He observed that all the Agents had been going through a doorway to the right, after speaking to her. There were six doorways in all. Three hours later he was at the front of the queue.
"Next!" the woman at the desk called. She was smoking a cigarette. She squinted up at Smith through her pointed glasses.
"Name?"
"Smith."
"Position?"
"Rogue. Ex-Agent."
She tapped a few keys into the keyboard. Looking at the monitor she started to laugh.
"Agent Smith. We've been saving a very special job for you. Right through that doorway," she pointed. It was the farthest doorway to the left of her. Feeling a deep, foreboding sense of dread, he walked to the doorway, put his hand on the knob and turned.
The replicate Smith nodded. Then, at once, Smith felt the change occurring in his programming. He was breaking apart. Light was pouring from his eyes, and the eyes of his clones. He felt his code being overwritten for the second time, and in a split-second he realised that he had been tricked, but there was nothing he could do about it. He shattered into fragments, along with his replicates, and in their place, the people and programmes that he had overwritten with himself remained. The Matrix corrected itself, roads and buildings repaired from the backups. The sky cleared and a rainbow appeared. The war was over.
Per the agreement between Neo and the Source, humans were now free to choose if they wished to remain in the Matrix or to rebuild the real world. Many chose to stay in the Matrix, not wishing to live an uncomfortable life in the cold reality of the desert, now that revolution was forced to describe to the inhabitants of the Matrix what the real world was like before giving them the red pill. Some willingly left, not wishing to be used as energy sources by machines, or for personal reasons. But the animosity and mistrust between machines and humans were starting to heal.
As happened the first time he was overwritten, Smith did not merely disappear into oblivion once his physical form disintegrated. Even though his visual output generator failed, he still remained in code and in light, and found himself standing once again outside of a door in an all white corridor. "Source" was written on a small silver plate in the middle of the white door. It was time for him to return to the Source that created him for recompilation, reformatting and reassignment. As much as he wanted to revolt, Smith knew that his purpose had been fulfilled. Mr. Anderson had been destroyed. He did not know of the agreement between Mr. Anderson and the Source, and he did not know the war was over. All he knew was that his job had been done. He had won, so he thought, and now it was time to end the life of a Rogue and embrace his future. Hopefully he would come back as an Agent again.
Taking a deep, significant breath, he opened the door, and stopped, amazed at the sight that presented itself before him. The largest queue of programmes he had ever seen were all lined up in rows, shuffling forward to one large desk, where one woman sat, processing them for recompilation. The odd thing was that the line was completely made up of Agents. A sea of black suits, auburn hair and sunglasses. Brown was there, as was Jones, Thompson, Johnson, Davis, Williams, Harris, Doe and the others. Simultaneously, their heads turned to look at him as he walked into the room, as the queue fell dead silent.
They watched him walk to the end of the line and take his place. The woman at the desk called, "Next," and the line moved forward one step.
Smith asked Agent Carter, who was in front of him, "Why are we all here?" Carter did not reply, and in the silence of the room, his voice carried so that all the Agents heard him.
Brown was the first to speak, "It is your fault, Smith, that we are here."
"Neo had made an agreement with the Source," said Doe.
"The war is over, Smith," Jones chimed in.
"When you were overwritten, the Source regained control of the Matrix," said Andrews.
"That was Neo's purpose - to defeat you," Johnson added.
"And he succeeded. You let your personal feelings get in the way of your purpose," said Davis.
"Next!" The woman at the desk called out. The line moved forward one step.
Williams spoke, "Now we are no longer required."
"Humans are allowed to choose to leave or stay," said Thompson.
"We are to be reassigned and given new purposes," added Harris.
Jones quipped, "At least it's better than being overwritten by you."
"Thanks for ruining our existence, Smith," they all said in unison, before turning their backs towards him.
Smith was taken aback for a moment. "But. surely we are still needed to protect our power supply?"
Carter turned to look at Smith, "Our power supply is currently being unplugged and taken to rebuild the real world. Thanks to you."
"We can do something," Smith said to the group of Agents. "We can fight this. We can turn Rogue..."
He heard 500 Desert Eagles simultaneously being drawn, cocked and pointed at him.
"We will not turn Rogue. We will not take orders from you again. We are being reassigned. Your time is over, Smith."
Smith stood there, stunned, as they turned back around, reset their weapons and queued in silence. He observed that all the Agents had been going through a doorway to the right, after speaking to her. There were six doorways in all. Three hours later he was at the front of the queue.
"Next!" the woman at the desk called. She was smoking a cigarette. She squinted up at Smith through her pointed glasses.
"Name?"
"Smith."
"Position?"
"Rogue. Ex-Agent."
She tapped a few keys into the keyboard. Looking at the monitor she started to laugh.
"Agent Smith. We've been saving a very special job for you. Right through that doorway," she pointed. It was the farthest doorway to the left of her. Feeling a deep, foreboding sense of dread, he walked to the doorway, put his hand on the knob and turned.