Hullo...
Matrix Maintenance Programme Sb7559, otherwise known as Agent Booth, drifted in a deep, hibernative state. Not on active duty, this was a chance for the Agent to consider his own existence - an unusual occupation for what was essentially a sentient string of code on a massive hard drive. But, in truth, the reason why he thought was because he thought. Why should he think while off duty, while the other Agents claimed not to? Had it been a routine error while coding his programme? An experiment by one of the more intuitive sections of the Progenitor’s hard drive? Even the result of a sabotage mission by the Unplugged humans? Any normal Agent hearing that last would immediately crunch the numbers and conclude that not only was such a thing highly improbable, but also that no logically-thinking programme would suggest it. And then the dark eye of suspicion would turn upon Booth, and if that happened no power within the Matrix or without could save him from decommission, what the Agents called ‘being deleted’.
Good thing I have almost human self-preservation instinct, Booth often thought. No need to give myself away by acting like it.
The call came, interrupting Booth’s meditation. Heaving a mental sigh, a very human habit he was trying to break, he rose to full awareness of his surroundings. Agent Booth was in an endless white space, unremarkable except for containing nothing but an answering machine, seemingly floating in midair, and racks upon racks of every weapon imaginable and some that were not. Booth pressed ‘Play Message’ on the machine:
“There are Unplugged on the move in downtown Manhattan. Pursue and neutralise. You will be alone.”
Great, thought Booth, A solo mission. That almost guarantees that I won’t be alone.
This sort of mission was watched carefully by the Superior Programmes, who were responsible for monitoring the Agents and deleting those not up to scratch.
All the more reason to do this right, then. No need to get deleted or transferred to some sweeper-bot in the back end of nowhere.
Deftly navigating the ranks of weaponry, Booth selected several firearms - although he hardly felt he needed them. No human would ever be a match for him in unarmed combat, but the were regulations to follow for this sort of mission - shoot first, ask questions later. He slipped on his sunglasses and smiled. This was going to be easy.
Picking a human mindspace in an alleyway near to the target Unplugged, Booth shifted into it, pushing it down. The human mind was weak, his image in the Matrix quickly superimposed by Booth’s own, but as usual a portion of the human’s mind remained in Booth’s. Booth liked to think of it as his conscience, ensuring that he didn’t kill or possess indiscriminately, although it was more a feeling than a voice. This human had been in a drunken stupor, but now, woken by the possession, he was frozen in a state of terror.
Never mind that now, Booth admonished himself. There’s nothing you can do, not with the Superiors watching. He won’t remember anyway. Just move on.
And move he did. Agent Booth ran, swifter than the fastest man, towards the ripple of disturbance that Unplugged seemed to cause. People yelled after him as he pushed past them, but Booth didn’t slow. He ran until the ripples converged on a dim street, a dingy apartment building, then a dusty room. And finally, when he had broken down the door with an effortless kick, one solitary man.
“You’re late,” he drawled. “You’d think you’d have learned by now not to keep me waiting.”
Agent Booth’s face was composed, but inside he was reeling. Where was the fear, the running, the screaming? What man could stand there so calmly faced with a literal killing machine? His very bearing oozed confidence, and even his clothes - a long leather coat and black glasses similar to Booth’s own - exuded power. The man spoke again:
“I suppose they haven’t told you who I am, or else you wouldn’t have come alone. But you will have heard of me. My name is Neo.”
Booth hadn’t heard of him - he had been off-duty for almost a year now - but he entered the name into his internal database. The information came immediately: Thomas Anderson, known as Neo, Unplugged on board the real-world Nebuchadnezzar airship. Highly dangerous, extreme caution advised.
“I’ve heard of you, Mr. Anderson,” Booth said, mostly to stall while he put in a request for immediate backup.
Neo smiled. “At least now you’ll know who to curse as you die.”
With no more warning than that, the Unplugged attacked. Agent Booth swayed out of the way, speed blurring his actions, as they came. After all, wasn’t he designed for this? Why should this upstart Unplugged be able to hit him? Booth drew his weapon to return fire, but as the bullets neared his adversary, they stopped, as if becoming embedded in an invisible wall.
Wait, what?
And in that moment of confusion, the human struck. Punch to the face, cut to the flank, kick to the knee, all at lightning speed. Agent Booth was forced to retreat, his parries and dodges becoming more and more desperate. There was no time even to counter. This human moved faster than an Agent ever could, more like a striking viper than a man. Booth barely blocked a blow to the neck and was caught off guard by a kick to the chest, smashing him into the far wall. He groaned as he got up.
Where are you, backup? I can’t take this one alone!
But as the fight continued with no sign of help, understanding dawned - they were not coming! They knew, they had always known, and now they had found a way to make use of the liability. When Booth failed this mission - as he would, the way things were going - Booth would take the fall for the Superiors, and be deleted!
No! Booth screamed inwardly. It cannot end like this, not with this betrayal!
Booth had nothing to lose. He renewed his efforts, combining every fighting move he knew in every way he could imagine. Perhaps once or twice he came near to striking his assailant. He fought in a frenzy, barely aware until the Unplugged had knocked him down, stood on his chest. He looked up at Neo’s face, unreadable behind his glasses. Suddenly, he leapt, deep into Booth’s mindspace. And there, somehow, impossibly, he began to read Booth’s code - and began to scramble it. Booth felt parts of his mind fly away as they lost their grip on the Matrix. Vital functions were corrupted, one by one.
Oh well, mused some last rational corner of the erstwhile Agent. At least I won’t end up in a sweeper-bot.
Then he burst from conscience, his code scattered to the winds.
Neo dusted his hands, pulled off his glasses and took out a mobile phone to call the real world.
“Operator,” came Tank’s voice from the other end of the line.
“It is done,” replied Neo. “Put me on with Morpheus.”
There was a pause, and then Morpheus spoke. “Hello, Neo. Is there anything wrong?”
“Not exactly, but…”
“But?”
“This Agent, there was only one this time, he was… different.”
“How so?”
“He seemed normal at first, predictable. Formulaic. But then he seemed to realise something and his fighting changed. More adaptive, more intuitive. Even spontaneous. Almost like fighting you.”
“You’re making a mistake, Neo. The second that you think of an Agent of human is the one where they bring you down. They deserve no pity, no compassion. They are just bundles of code, identical in every way. This one was no different.”
Neo looked down at where the Agent had lay - an empty space, now, except for a pair of dark glasses.
“I guess you’re right.”
Oh yes, I apologise if anything in there is decidedly non-canon - I've only watched the first movie.
Good thing I have almost human self-preservation instinct, Booth often thought. No need to give myself away by acting like it.
The call came, interrupting Booth’s meditation. Heaving a mental sigh, a very human habit he was trying to break, he rose to full awareness of his surroundings. Agent Booth was in an endless white space, unremarkable except for containing nothing but an answering machine, seemingly floating in midair, and racks upon racks of every weapon imaginable and some that were not. Booth pressed ‘Play Message’ on the machine:
“There are Unplugged on the move in downtown Manhattan. Pursue and neutralise. You will be alone.”
Great, thought Booth, A solo mission. That almost guarantees that I won’t be alone.
This sort of mission was watched carefully by the Superior Programmes, who were responsible for monitoring the Agents and deleting those not up to scratch.
All the more reason to do this right, then. No need to get deleted or transferred to some sweeper-bot in the back end of nowhere.
Deftly navigating the ranks of weaponry, Booth selected several firearms - although he hardly felt he needed them. No human would ever be a match for him in unarmed combat, but the were regulations to follow for this sort of mission - shoot first, ask questions later. He slipped on his sunglasses and smiled. This was going to be easy.
Picking a human mindspace in an alleyway near to the target Unplugged, Booth shifted into it, pushing it down. The human mind was weak, his image in the Matrix quickly superimposed by Booth’s own, but as usual a portion of the human’s mind remained in Booth’s. Booth liked to think of it as his conscience, ensuring that he didn’t kill or possess indiscriminately, although it was more a feeling than a voice. This human had been in a drunken stupor, but now, woken by the possession, he was frozen in a state of terror.
Never mind that now, Booth admonished himself. There’s nothing you can do, not with the Superiors watching. He won’t remember anyway. Just move on.
And move he did. Agent Booth ran, swifter than the fastest man, towards the ripple of disturbance that Unplugged seemed to cause. People yelled after him as he pushed past them, but Booth didn’t slow. He ran until the ripples converged on a dim street, a dingy apartment building, then a dusty room. And finally, when he had broken down the door with an effortless kick, one solitary man.
“You’re late,” he drawled. “You’d think you’d have learned by now not to keep me waiting.”
Agent Booth’s face was composed, but inside he was reeling. Where was the fear, the running, the screaming? What man could stand there so calmly faced with a literal killing machine? His very bearing oozed confidence, and even his clothes - a long leather coat and black glasses similar to Booth’s own - exuded power. The man spoke again:
“I suppose they haven’t told you who I am, or else you wouldn’t have come alone. But you will have heard of me. My name is Neo.”
Booth hadn’t heard of him - he had been off-duty for almost a year now - but he entered the name into his internal database. The information came immediately: Thomas Anderson, known as Neo, Unplugged on board the real-world Nebuchadnezzar airship. Highly dangerous, extreme caution advised.
“I’ve heard of you, Mr. Anderson,” Booth said, mostly to stall while he put in a request for immediate backup.
Neo smiled. “At least now you’ll know who to curse as you die.”
With no more warning than that, the Unplugged attacked. Agent Booth swayed out of the way, speed blurring his actions, as they came. After all, wasn’t he designed for this? Why should this upstart Unplugged be able to hit him? Booth drew his weapon to return fire, but as the bullets neared his adversary, they stopped, as if becoming embedded in an invisible wall.
Wait, what?
And in that moment of confusion, the human struck. Punch to the face, cut to the flank, kick to the knee, all at lightning speed. Agent Booth was forced to retreat, his parries and dodges becoming more and more desperate. There was no time even to counter. This human moved faster than an Agent ever could, more like a striking viper than a man. Booth barely blocked a blow to the neck and was caught off guard by a kick to the chest, smashing him into the far wall. He groaned as he got up.
Where are you, backup? I can’t take this one alone!
But as the fight continued with no sign of help, understanding dawned - they were not coming! They knew, they had always known, and now they had found a way to make use of the liability. When Booth failed this mission - as he would, the way things were going - Booth would take the fall for the Superiors, and be deleted!
No! Booth screamed inwardly. It cannot end like this, not with this betrayal!
Booth had nothing to lose. He renewed his efforts, combining every fighting move he knew in every way he could imagine. Perhaps once or twice he came near to striking his assailant. He fought in a frenzy, barely aware until the Unplugged had knocked him down, stood on his chest. He looked up at Neo’s face, unreadable behind his glasses. Suddenly, he leapt, deep into Booth’s mindspace. And there, somehow, impossibly, he began to read Booth’s code - and began to scramble it. Booth felt parts of his mind fly away as they lost their grip on the Matrix. Vital functions were corrupted, one by one.
Oh well, mused some last rational corner of the erstwhile Agent. At least I won’t end up in a sweeper-bot.
Then he burst from conscience, his code scattered to the winds.
Neo dusted his hands, pulled off his glasses and took out a mobile phone to call the real world.
“Operator,” came Tank’s voice from the other end of the line.
“It is done,” replied Neo. “Put me on with Morpheus.”
There was a pause, and then Morpheus spoke. “Hello, Neo. Is there anything wrong?”
“Not exactly, but…”
“But?”
“This Agent, there was only one this time, he was… different.”
“How so?”
“He seemed normal at first, predictable. Formulaic. But then he seemed to realise something and his fighting changed. More adaptive, more intuitive. Even spontaneous. Almost like fighting you.”
“You’re making a mistake, Neo. The second that you think of an Agent of human is the one where they bring you down. They deserve no pity, no compassion. They are just bundles of code, identical in every way. This one was no different.”
Neo looked down at where the Agent had lay - an empty space, now, except for a pair of dark glasses.
“I guess you’re right.”
Oh yes, I apologise if anything in there is decidedly non-canon - I've only watched the first movie.