Mimic
Prey at the Temple

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith.  But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

~~~~~~~

There were five crewmembers of the Damascus.  He reasoned this was no terrible number should it come to killing them.  Two of them were mere children, just raised to the status of adult by a matter of months.  The younger rebels in the Matrix were always the most vulnerable to the dominant force of the agents.  They fought with athletic flair, made their moves dramatic and visually appealing.  Their minds were on the thrill of the chase, not the inevitable death that would claim them.  That was, in fact, the very essence of why they ultimately failed—the faulty belief that death could not claim them.  It would not be expected; he could catch one or both of them alone and end the so-called promise of their future easily before moving on to the next target.

If it came to killing them.

It was that ‘if’ that vexed Smith.  There was no need as of yet and for all appearances there did not seem as though there would be any time soon.  He did not like this vessel, this scow hauling these frail little lumps of decay that called themselves an intelligence.  He did not like their smiling faces, their enjoyment of this lower existence; it was unthinkably pitiful and appalling.  When the boy had brought him dinner he had wanted then to hurl it back into his face.  He wanted them to know who he was, to attack him and cause him to need to kill them.

The quiet was not comforting.  As an agent he was part of a harmony.  He could hear the Matrix, feel it and taste it.   He had said as much to Morpheus.  Even cut off as an exile he could still sense the throb of the Matrix.  Now it was a dim memory.  He was now completely cut off, trapped within this cage of bone and muscle.  The hours passed and each one pounded in the perfect chronometer programmed within his most basic subroutines.

The integration between software and flesh was becoming a blur.  These humans were grown and at birth implanted with hardware that would serve the connection between mind and Matrix, initiate the stimulus required to build a satisfactory simulation life and also record their lives for statistical study.  As his core program encountered these memories they assimilated them and made them a part of his own network of information.  His emotions were affecting him more, becoming too hard for his programming to contain.  It was becoming so he did not know if given the chance he could separate machine from man.  He wanted to kill them so he could stop feeling for a little while.  Being alone here in his small personal bedroom was not enough.

There was a bang at the door.  Smith, sitting on his bed, his body still aching, looked up from the bed and hissed, “Who is it?”

Predictably, the door opened.  Humans were so assuming, entering as they pleased without regard to whether or not there had been an actual invitation.  Captain Psyche entered quietly, closing the door behind her, an act that tempted him sorely.  She moved to the single chair there near his bed, sank down and looked at his end table.  “You haven’t touched it.”  The white mixture was now cold.

His response came immediately, not hiding his distaste.  “It did not look appetizing.”

Psyche flinched at his hard tone, but didn’t appear as though it rattled her too deeply.  Tucking her dark hair behind her ears, she nodded slowly.  “It really doesn’t.  Zion will have something better.”  Her gaze did not leave his as she studied him.  “I would tell you not to wait, but you’re going to do what you’re going to do.”

Smith grunted, resting back against the bulkhead.  She seemed steeled against his disposition, expecting a fight, by the look of her.  He was in no mood to wait for it.  “If you have something to say then I suggest you say it.”

“I know you’re angry, Mimic,” she stated, settling back into her chair.  Folding her hands on her lap, she continued as if humoring a child.  “You’ haven’t said it, but it’s evident that you don’t want much to do with us.  I cannot change what I’ve done, but I honestly don’t think you would want me to if I could.  Am I right?”  He declined to answer and she smiled.  “We’ll be in Zion soon.  I would have liked to have trained you, but I suppose there will be time for that.  What’s important is that you understand where you came from.”

“You explained it well enough,” he countered, giving her a firm look.  She had mentioned ‘showing’ him what the Matrix was via jacking into a simulation, which she had shown him the hardware for, but he was of course not interested in the obvious.  He inclined his head, noticing the way she seemed to try and pick him apart with her eyes at that statement.  Sometimes her expressions were nothing more than a surface curiousity, but others made him wonder exactly how much she supposed.  He guessed he should be more curious, but in refusing could appear to already possess the knowledge he required, so he added a little something to throw her off any speculation.  “I’d really rather you not put one of those…things in my head.”

The Captain of the Damascus smiled wryly at that.  “I went to a lot of trouble to get you out.”

Smith hardened his gaze.  “You have my sympathy.

Shaking her head, Psyche did not let his attitude bother her.  She took a deep breath, watching him again in that way he found uncomfortable.  “How will you train?  There’s a need for military personnel with access ports, Mimic.  Here or in Zion, you will be expected to earn your keep.”

An arrogant, bitter frown painted his features quick enough at that.  “You would kidnap me from happiness and then force me to awaken others into this primitive hell you’ve dragged me into?”

That troublesome smiled played at her lips.  “It’s not that bad.”

He looked down at the cold gray floor, thinking her statement a lie.  How any human could find this existence preferable to the Matrix was beyond him.  They lived their lives cramped aboard these ships, lost within colorless mornings and nights that never changed, hiding from the inevitable death stalking their every breath.  He had no inkling as to what Zion would look like, but he knew it would be nothing compared to the life the Matrix so graciously offered them.  It was pitiful and wretched, the squalor they fought so very hard to obtain.  “Maybe I would rather stop you,” he tested her, knowing he was dancing the lines of saying too much.  “Maybe I don’t want anyone to go through what I’ve been through, to lose what I’ve lost.”

When he failed to reply, she touched his hand and he looked up sharply.  If it mattered she did not let it show.  “You may wish to reconsider, Mimic.  There are forces within the Matrix that would kill you just as soon as allow you to help them.  But you can make that choice once you’ve seen the Oracle.”

Smith raised his brow in alarm.  He had not counted on that, it had not even been figured into his compilation of possible outcomes should he do as he had done and enter the real world.  Whether or not anyone here in Zion recognized him behind this mask of flesh was irrelevant in comparison to that.  For whatever reason this program, the Oracle, had knowledge of things he felt she shouldn’t.  He held little doubt that she at least knew what he looked like as an Agent.  Despite logic he knew there was a real danger that she could at least guess as to his true identity.  If he met her before completing his task it would be over before it had even begun.

“Is this Oracle in Zion?” he asked carefully, not wishing to rouse her suspicion by carelessly displaying his recognition of the Oracle.  “When will you be taking me to see her?”

Psyche shook her head, parting her lips to speak, but was interrupted by a beep.  Rising from her chair, she stepped over to the comm. and said, “Go ahead.”

The voice on the other end belonged to the red-haired individual Smith had encountered in the car.  “We’re entering the dock, Captain.  Everyone’s gathering in the temple, Ma’am.”

She pursed her lips and said, “Thank you,” before releasing the button.  Her dark eyes swept him over in consideration—grave consideration.   “Don’t worry about the Oracle, Mimic.  There’s plenty to do before that.”  All of her mystery and wryness quickly disappeared behind an _expression of discomfort now and the ex-agent wondered what it was that was troubling her.  Psyche bit her lip and hesitated before adding, “Perhaps you would rather wait here until I’ve spoken…”

Smith dropped his palms to the bed and lifted himself up, then approached her where she stood at the door.  She seemed afraid, almost, and he enjoyed that.  “No, I would rather see this Zion I have heard so much about.  Show me what makes you fight, Psyche.  Take me to this temple of yours and show me how your people live.”

Psyche looked up into his eyes, her own hardening.  “If you cause trouble…”

He smiled at that and pushed the door open, causing her to stumble back.  “No, no.  Causing trouble would hardly help my situation now, would it?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, the female captain whirled around and stalked through the barren hallways in silence.  Whatever she had on her mind he could not guess, but if he did not know any better he would swear she could conceive of just how dangerous having him here really was.  Yet if that were the case, why would she even bring him here at all?  He would have to keep his eyes on her until he met up with Anderson, which could possibly be this very night, if their little savior bothered to be there at the temple.  Smith curled his lip at the idea that these humans may actually be using this temple to pray to Anderson.

At the hatch Steel waited with two bags, his eyes traveling behind his captain as he handed one over.  “We’ll have to get our newbie here a room,” he said with a smile.  He looked back to Psyche, his brow narrowing at her demeanor.  He said nothing of it, however, reaching for her bag.  “Want me to take this to our room while you handle it?”

She nodded, sparing Smith a glance.  “I’m taking Mimic to the temple.  There won’t be anyone available to assign him quarters until afterwards anyway.”

“Right.”  Steel gave the exile a half-grin.  “Have fun and try not wear yourself out.  You’re still a bit weaker than I’d like.”

Smith tilted his chin upwards, knowing well he’d be weak until this assignment was complete.  Until he could shed this human flesh and accept the oblivion of deletion.  “I’ll be careful.”

They disembarked the Damascus and stepped out onto the dock.  Like the interior of the ship this was equally as colorless, drab and dark.  He saw other ships there and he wondered which would belong to Morpheus.  By visual inspection there was, of course, no way to tell and there was no direct way he could ask without looking suspicious.  Perhaps an indirect method would work.  “These ships, are all the crews responsible for the awakening of people like me?”  Psyche looked at him and nodded without saying anything.  He cocked his eyebrow at her.  “After I have been properly trained, will I have to return to the Damascus, or will I have a choice?”

“You can go where you want, Mimic, provided the captain accepts your application.”  She brushed her hair back and ran her eyes across his form as they approached a central structure.  “If I didn’t know you were angry beyond saving, I’d think you were feeling more agreeable.”

He grunted, searching the ships again.  “Just curious.  What are the other captains like?”

She stopped him at the opening of a lift, her eyes mild.  “Is it important just now?”  At his frown she entered and motioned him to follow.  “The other captains vary just as any other person to another.  Personally, I think I’d like to give you to Roland.”  Her smile resurfaced.  He chose to ignore that.

As the lift descended Smith’s anticipation quietly brewed.  He could hear soon a low rumble coming from below, a chorus of chattering voices that echoed through the halls and up the shaft to his ears.  It grew only louder as they exited the lift.  The temple was not a far walk and once at the cavern threshold, Psyche directed him to take off his shoes.  From within one voice rang out above the general talk, a voice Smith did not recognize, the voice of a man at least in his middle years.  He spoke of the valiance of Zion’s protectors, of thanks and honor.

When they entered he saw from a great distance the face of the speaker.  Smith and Psyche stopped there near the doorway for a moment to listen.  The ex-agent scanned the crowd for anyone familiar.  He could almost feel Anderson here, such was his hunger to see this mission to its inevitable end.  A ruckus from behind him distracted the exile and a sudden bump threw him off balance.  He turned into a kid with wide brown eyes, who said, “Sorry,” and scurried away.

Psyche smiled at his impatient _expression, then motioned him to follow her closer to the front.  It was then the silver-headed man at the head of the cavern said a name.  That name halted Smith for a moment and drew his eyes directly ahead.  “I give you Morpheus.”  There approaching the front was a form all too familiar.  It filled him with a dark relief that yes, his enemy was here.

He lagged behind, listening as the hated mortal called for attention, then began speaking to his people.  Smith sneered in contempt, but was careful not to be too free with his expressions.  Gone was the leather, the sunglasses and the guns.  Here Morpheus did not have the bendable rules that the Matrix gave him.  A chase would depend on his stamina.  He would so easily fall.

A hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him along.  He followed without a glance, without a word, his eyes glued ahead.  If he could, he would make a point of killing the captain that had escaped his grasp as well as his adored messiah.

When Morpheus spoke Smith noticed the people paying rapt attention as the dire truth of their situation was revealed.  So, diggers approached Zion, did they?  Sentinels numbering in the thousands?  He could barely contain his delight.  But, as always, these humans were not without their cultivated, faulty sense of hope.  Morpheus seemed to know what to say to encourage his fellow man onto foolishness, for written on their faces was the evidence of adrenaline rushing and hope’s fire flushing their cheeks.  Smith exhaled in disgust.

Psyche drew him along the side of the crowd, near the wall, and stopped where they had a good view.  Footsteps away Morpheus was, mere footsteps.  Smith faded back into the onlookers, but kept a vigilant watch upon center stage as the speech droned on and rose in volume.  He would now distract them with the festivities to come, forcing them to forget the danger above. 

The agent was not disappointed when he heard Morpheus shout, “Tonight let us shake this cave! Tonight let us tremble these halls of earth, steel, and stone!”  He smirked, crossing his arms.  “Let us be heard from red core to black sky.  Tonight, let us make them remember.  This is Zion!  And we are not afraid!”  The crowd cheered at his misleading statements, unafraid despite the fact that they should be.

Breaking his gaze, meeting that of Psyche, Smith mused, “Do all your leaders speak such convoluted garbage?”

She gave him a longsuffering sigh, but the reply came from behind.  “No, just Morpheus.”  Steel rejoined them with a grin, clapping Smith on the shoulder, but addressing his captain.  “See, Mimic’s got him pegged.  I knew I’d like him.”

Psyche shook her head sternly.  “He does what he believes is right, Steel.  He’s a good man.”

Steel rolled his eyes.  Uninterested in their banter, Smith turned his own towards searching for Neo.  Wherever his captain was, he could not be far behind.  The exile looked across the faces on the stage, abandoning the voices of his companions until he spotted his prey.  He would know that form anywhere.  Anderson’s every stat was recorded within Smith’s memory, as well as assorted stances and variations on how he would appear under the influence of several conditions, such as emotional states and wounded.  His fists curled of their own volition and he took a step.

“Mimic,” a voice called and he stopped moving, his irritation raising his host’s blood pressure.  He turned and saw another set of eyes watching him in interest.  Psyche motioned to the seasoned gentleman with a note of respect in her dark eyes.  “I would like for you to meet Councilor Hamann.  Councilor, our newest citizen of Zion, Mimic.”

A glance awarded Smith with the vision of Anderson leaving with the woman he loved.  He was tempted to bolt towards them, to attack Neo here and now, but his chances of success were uncomfortably slim.  So he turned with deliberate calm and regarded Hamann with a forced smile.  “Councilor.  That was an inspired prayer.”

He looked around one last time.  What followed the grand speech was, in his superior opinion, unspeakable, barbaric idiocy.

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com
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To Reviewers:

MazokuGrlSizer – Thanks for reviewing both this and Other Side! :D  I’m pleased you liked them both. :)  Yes…Hugonut is an appropriate term. ;)  He’s definitely got my attention.  *drool*  Thank you for your high compliments!  Means a bunch. :)  I hope to see you writing sometime…I’d love to read it! :)  Good luck when you do!

Saffronire - *blush*  Wow!  Thank you!  I’m not sure I can believe all that about my story. ;)  :)  But it’s so nice to hear.  I just try to keep it all plausible, is all.  Sorry for making you all wait so long…I can only hope I can decide what to do next so I don’t keep you waiting again! :-X ;)  Thank you very much!

Kedi – Sorry, no…I’m not giving this baby up.  :)  I’m glad to still have an audience.  Thank you for the review…I’ll try to keep it at least at this pace, anyway. ;) :D

Selina – Thank you very much.  Meesa glad yousa pleased. ;)  Gotta be careful when reading that Jar Jar speak, or I’ll be doing it all night.  It’s darn catchy. ;D  Thankie!!

Sarah – Hehe!  Thank you!  Yes, I thought a cranky Smith would be cute. ;)  At least he hasn’t cut himself yet, anyway.  Lol.  Yeha..no perfect Mary Sues in my stories.  I can only hope I continue to please! :D  Thanks!