There You Are

Posted: October 26, 2013 by writingsprint in Science fiction
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Continuing the story of “rogue” Agent Smith from The Matrix.

The crowd milled about, trying to see. Police sirens screamed in the distance. They were getting closer. Most people covered their mouths, coughing from the smoke and dust. Smith’s held his breath and blinked hard so that he could see.

The building was a bank. The bomb had gutted the third floor. Smith didn’t see bodies or body parts. The sentimental humans had probably cleared the floor first.

Smith ran inside the building. Two hapless security guards were trying to get employees out. One of them saw him. “Sir, get the hell out of this building!” he yelled.

“I’m an EMT. I’m going to help,” he said.

“I can’t let you do that. I have to secure the—”

Smith ignored him. There were too many people for the guard to handle and he let Smith go.

Smith forced his way the mob of people coming down the stairs. He was stronger than all of them put together. People figured out that they had to get out of his way. He saw frightened secretaries, administrators, data clerks and finance specialists. He saw suits, ties, and fancy dress wear. None of them looked like the hackers.

Smoke oozed around the corners of the door to the third floor. The edges were buckled and bent. The door had already been taped off for professional cleaning. Smith forced the door off its hinges and went inside.

Smoke filled the stairway behind him. People panicked. It would complicate his exit but it couldn’t be helped. Smith crouched down to stay out of the smoke. It was just as he thought. No bodies. Nothing but wrecked desks and filing cabinets. He didn’t have time to see where the bomb had been and he didn’t care. If Smith had to guess, they had disguised themselves as cleaners, dropped off the bomb in their equipment and walked out. It was a diversion.

Smith looked out at the street. Police cars and EMT’s were arriving. They would set up a perimeter and start to help people out of the building. Fire fighters would contain the blast area. Agents were coming in another car; he could feel them. He only had a few minutes.

He saw a cleaning van parked across the street. On fourth floor of that building, he saw three people dressed in black working feverishly on laptop computers.

A tall man with ghost-pale skin and short black hair stopped what he was doing. Smith suddenly remembered what it had felt like just before he had died at the hotel. Confusion. Chaos. Reality blinking in and out. There was a human saying for how he felt now: like someone walked over his grave.

The man looked at Smith. Smith said slowly, “Hello, Mr. Anderson.”

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