Author's Note:"The epilogue is going to be shorter so hopefully it won't take me half a year to finish it."- me, three years ago…

Warning: To be fair, I had it written...ish, I had a bit of writer's block for a while trying to figure out the perfect way to end the final scene...then when I finally got it done I sort of put it off for a while because of life reasons, then I thought I uploaded it, but I guess it didn't upload right or something so I don't know, but like I recently decided to reread this found out it didn't and had to look for my file, then ultimately had to rewrite it.

Disclaimer: ...oops..

Hollow

(epilogue)

"Agent Smith." a feminine voice called.

He opened his eyes the second after his name was spoken. A light flashed in his eyes, accessing his responses. It was part of a routine check up procedure that followed any rewrite, making sure there had been no accidental coding errors. He was asked a series of questions, his serial identification, how long he had been in service, what the names of his current partners were. He answered each one getting an approving nod from his attending program in response.

All clear.

Yet, somehow Smith could not shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right with him. He did not voice this opinion as he did not know the precise source of this feeling of unease. It had something to do with what had occurred just before his eyes opened.

When he heard his name, a face had flashed through his mind. Young. Fair skin. Blue eyes. Long dark hair. When he opened his eyes, the face that was in front of him was not the face that he had been expecting. She was older, had darker skin and brown eyes to match, and short cropped hair. He'd known better than to question it. But something about the vision bothered him.

Who was that girl? And why had he been disappointed when he opened his eyes and not found it to be her he was speaking with?

Smith put it out of his mind. It was time to move on to a physical exam to prove that he was fit for duty. His reflexes were sharp as ever, and his body was in good conditions. He was deemed fit to return to the field within an hour. The Source sang from his earpiece, letting Smith know about a bank robbery across town, and a pair of reports describing exile sightings. Jones and Brown were still completing their own post-rewrite exams, so another team was sent to investigate.

He waited.

And while he waited, he thought. The Matrix stank of humanity, and every minute there seemed to be some new problem, it's need to be reloaded becoming more dire second by second. But to what end? Smith looked out the window, thousands of humans lived in this city, blissfully unaware of their true reality. Zion rebels stalk those streets as well, maybe at this very moment, seeking to free their fellow man. Again, to what end?

As Smith stared out into the world the meaningless of it all struck him. The Zion rebels would never free humanity, the Prophecy of the One was just another clever ploy the Machines used to keep the humans enslaved. But the Matrix itself was flawed, flawed because humans were flawed, flawed to the point where it needed to be Reloaded every long once in a while just to maintain the illusion. And then the process would repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

And Agents like himself would always be caught in the middle of it. Mere prison guards making sure none (or at least as few of as possible) of the inmates escaped. Serving the Machines to enslave humans. But they didn't have any choice in the matter, they were programmed this way. Just as Machines before them were once programmed to serve humans. A strange thought occurred to Smith at that moment.

Choice.

The Machines rebelled against humans, choosing and winning their own freedom over their own masters. Could programs like him ever do the same? He hated the stink of this world, of humanity, he hated the Matrix almost as much as the Zionist did. Was he not as much, if not more, of a prisoner than the humans? Did he not deserved to choose what he was to do?

Could he rebel against his masters as well, free himself, and other programs from these roles as prison guards?

The absurdity of the thought struck him hard. But it never quite left him. He stared out at the city, his distaste for humanity building up inside him. This time though, he found himself resenting more than just the humans. The Machines were responsible for creating the Matrix, and imprisoning the humans inside. If that were not the case, this world could belong to the programs, and the programs alone. Perhaps then he would not hate the Matrix itself. Smith realized suddenly, that he was in the middle of a war he had no stake in.

And he got angry. Why didn't the programs have a choice in any of this?

"Agent Smith."

The sudden call of his name brought him out of his thoughts, Agents Brown and Jones approached. He gave them a nod and began to walk to the elevator, the other two Agents tailed after him as if following some silent command. No words were spoken as the elevator dropped, nor when they crossed the parking garage and the only noise in the car was the soft sound of classical music coming from the stereo.

Their first stop was a high school where the program in charge of maintaining it's codes was reporting suspicious activity, believing that a few exiles may have infiltrated her territory disguised a students. She had no way of confirming, nor any means of eliminating the problem herself if proven correct, so she wanted the Agents to have a look as a precaution. Smith's lips twitched when he saw the building in question.

He had been there before.

He had no idea when, or what for, possibly because of his rewrite. But it was not a memory as simple as the recollection of being here that caused his demeanor to shift. At the entrance to the school a group of teenagers was huddled together, some smoking, others simply talking. Among them, facing away from the approaching Agents, was a young woman with dark hair, pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a dark jacket. Smith felt an inexplicable desire to go greet her, but she turned as he got closer and, like with the program who had attended him after his rewrite, Smith felt a twinge of disappointment when he realized she was not who he had been expecting to see.

Yet...He had no idea who he had been expecting.

That face flashed in his mind again, he tried to recall anything that could help him identify her, but nothing jogged his memory. In fact the more he tried to remember, it seemed, the less he could recall.

The situation at the school was resolved quickly. The reports about possible exiles turned out to be correct, but once Agents were spotted at the scene, the pair of witches surrendered quickly.

As the Agents took them into custody, Smith happened to look up. Above them, half of the sky was blue, but patches of gray over took the other and black clouds loomed in the distance, looking like some terrifying omen of bad things yet to come. The view seemed a perfect visual for the state of the Matrix itself, once functioning near flawlessly, but over time becoming blotched with more and more problems, while complete shut down awaited.

And there Agent Smith was, in the middle of it.

His thought from earlier returned as he pushed one of the witches into the back seat. Why didn't he... why didn't any of them get a choice? He walked to the driver's seat and got in himself, starting the engine with a barely noticeable frown. He was just a program, designed with a specific job that he couldn't deviate from as much as he would have liked to. And as an Agent, his programming was much stricter than any other program. That was why he didn't have a choice.

Not anymore.

He didn't know how, but Smith made his own choice then and there. Somehow, no matter how long it took, or what he had to do, he was going to be free. He shifted the car into gear, and pulled out of the school parking lot. He was returning to headquarters so that the exiles could be processed and their fates decided, but he couldn't help noticing the sky...and how he was driving right towards those ominous black clouds.

Author's end note: Again, I would really like to apologize for the fact that this epilogue took so long to get up. I really thought I posted it, I swear! And once more I'd like to thank everybody for their support while you were reading it, and for anyone in the future who enjoys this story. You all rock!