=*=
A/N: After a very long absence, I have returned. Here's hoping this fic reads well enough. Just to give an idea of setting, this story takes place in the original film, and is really designed as a multi-chapter piece to complement what I covered in the earlier "Everyone and No One", then. Heh, only I realised afterwards that in "Everyone." I had confused Brown and Jones, so this story has put things back in their proper sense. Sorry about that! *Flicks self on head* Anyway, read and review, please!
=*=
Disclaimer: I don't own The Matrix, the machines do. Oh, and the Wachowski Bros., of course.
=*=
Summary: How do Agents Brown and Jones react when Smith's human tendencies become more pronounced and perplexing? A story about purpose, fear, self- doubt and denial.
=*=
The Corrective ~ Chapter One
=*=
A flicker of icy frustration glowed in Smith's eyes as he replaced his sunglasses, only to be extinguished a second later - or perhaps only hidden, they could not tell which - by the two angular panes of opaque black that rimmed his expression so perfectly and sharply. It had been, like all the other instances of late, a momentary thing. Indeed, if one blinked, they would have undoubtedly missed it and scorned any suggestion or suspicion of anything having happened at all. Both of them had noticed it this time, though, and this agreement of opinion was enough to remove any uncertainty. Brown glanced out of the corner of one eye at Jones. The ligaments of the other agent's face, which were of the same consistency and colourlessness, he thought, as paper pulp, did not move, but they were both looking at one another with the same degree of discomfort. Eventually, Brown thought, they had confirmed what he had half-dreaded, half-desired for the past few months.
Smith's chilling tones quickly filled the air. 'You disappoint me-'
'You can't scare me with this Gestapo crap.' Brown and Jones' eyes simultaneously returned to the back of the human's head, registering the slim green columns of code that slipped from its top down to the shoulders and below, capturing the creases of his shirt. From this close, they could see the steady throb of his heart. It told more of annoyance with Smith than of fear.
'I know my rights. I want my phone call.'
' And tell me, Mr. Anderson,' said Smith as a knowing gleam came into his tone, 'what good is a phone call if you are unable to speak?'
The code about the human's head began to intensify, changing from emerald green to a hot white as the switches recorded an alteration in the matrix made by Smith as he spoke. Brown heard a high, shrill ring in his earpiece as the complex laboured to calculate the outcomes of the transformation. Somewhere on the other side of the globe, enterprising businessman Yoshiro Kagijoto disappeared from the meeting that would settle his company's next deal and reappeared briefly in the middle of the Sahara before returning to the conference room. Sarah Jenkins of 294 Latchfield Road witnessed her dwarf black rabbit escape twice from his hutch in the space of three seconds. All the wonders of the universe revealed themselves to high school truant Travis Davies at his local music shop, then vanished inside the belly of the broken acoustic guitar cradled in his arms. Numerous glitches like these were occurring all over the system where the code could not adapt fast enough to Smith's new world order.
Brown's attention shot back to the interrogation room just in time to see Mr. Anderson's mouth weld into nothingness. The human clawed at his face and kicked over his chair, throwing himself away from Smith in terror and perplexity. Brown and Jones moved in with alarming calm and took hold of the human's shoulders. Their grip impossibly firm, they pressed him up against the corner of the room as he bleated through a dumb tongue and a wall of flesh. Smith was still sat at the table with his fists clenched on its surface and his back pressed heavily against the chair as if it were a recliner. Neither of the agents who were forcing open the human's shirt in spite of the little protesting movements of his feet and stomach could muse much about whether Smith's relaxation was at all suggestive of a sigh of relief, but both were easily persuaded of it. They flung Mr. Anderson onto the table like a ragdoll and held his arms and legs down almost effortlessly.
'You're going to help us, Mr. Anderson. Whether you want to or not.'
Only then did Smith stand and take a small silver case from his inside jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal three small wire devices with a solid steel heads, covered in thin glass coats protected from breakage by their container. He was the only agent in their unit to carry these peculiar things, being the leader and co-ordinator and also the one with the steadiest hand. He gripped the device's tail between forefinger and thumb and watched it expand and become organic and alive, the glass expanding about the head and thorax - for now a head, thorax and abdomen as occur in an insect were clearly visible. Smith tightened his hold and the glass exploded in an instant, liberating a mass of scrabbling green-grey legs. The creature, shrimp-like but also with traces of a fine resemblance to a fluke worm, buckled round to see what was clasping onto its tail so tightly and thrashed in a frustrated attempt to free itself. Smith smirked, observing how similar the revolting thing's motion was to that of the human before him. He brought it as close as he dared to the blood-flushed skin of Mr. Anderson's stomach and released it.
Busy tendrils found the human's navel and thrust themselves inside, penetrating the umbilical knot, hauling the head inside. The fine hairs of the insect's belly abraded cold, goose-pimpled flesh and Mr. Anderson's weak screams grew louder and louder, his throat sobbing in between them with its soreness. The parasite, having pulled its fat thorax fully into his intestine, simply slipped its tail swiftly downwards and out of sight. In the same moment, Smith, the only one with his hands free, took his gun from the same pocket that contained two more of the devices and delivered a single blow with its butt against the side of the human's skull. It was, of course, not enough to kill him, but it would knock him unconscious for long enough to ensure that as soon as the pain and fear had been struck into him, he would not trouble them any further in their operations until his assistance in locating the terrorist leader was required.
'We all understand that that is the reason the human has been bugged, of course?' Smith said as they loaded Mr. Anderson's body into the back of the black sedan that figured as their usual method of transport when it was neither preferable nor practical to transfer to another RSI.
'Affirmative. The signal will be easier to trace this way,' replied Jones. 'We will have their captain by twenty-two hundred hours tonight.'
'Good.' Smith disappeared inside the back of the car with the body. His fellow agents saw him prop it up in one of the passenger seats through the tinted window so that the man's head was resting securely against the doorframe and looked at one another through their shades. Their faces imparted no particular expression, only a grim neutrality.
'I sensed something back there,' said Jones in a low voice. 'It was not right.'
'I saw it too,' agreed Brown. He noticed the other agent's rising shoulders, the arms motioning as if they were about to break the window and pull Smith from the car for his very own interrogation. 'Yet it is only a very slight occurrence. We shouldn't act too hastily. It could be dangerous for the both of us.'
Jones relaxed somewhat, though his muscles were still tensed. He knew well enough that there were always possible ramifications for anyone associated with what carried the tendencies of a rogue programme. Already the system was being gradually reconfigured in preparation for the introduction of a new entity designed specifically to delete the Merovingian, one of the most infamous and destructive programmes within the matrix. In order to get to him, that system entry would in all probability have to destroy every single defensive measure affiliated with him. They ran the risk of being suspected of malfunction themselves if Smith were immediately reported. Both were equally harassed by the concern that the system might know already of the fallibility.
'Both of us.' Jones may have been able to restrain his body, but he could not control his insecurity. They had not been programmed to comprehend such things as this.
'Yes. From now on, that is how it is. There are only the two of us so long as he acts in this . way.'
Brown's glare was so piercing and persuasive that the other agent could no longer argue.
They separated and opened the front doors of the sedan, Jones looking to take his place on the other passenger seat, Brown in the position of driver. However, the latter only got as far as the edge of the leather- covered seat before he saw what was happening behind him.
Smith did not seem to have heard either of them prepare to get inside the car. He was sat, very quiet and bolt upright, supporting himself on his side so that he was turned fully towards Mr. Anderson's body. He held both arms aloft, the left hand touching his face, the right the human's. The two other agents watched in silent horror as the extended fingers ran down the contours of Mr. Anderson's cheek, their exact action mirrored by the left hand down the line of his own jaw. Smith then removed his sunglasses, allowing all the world to see the incredulous stare of his cold blue eyes, and moved his fingertips up the centre lines of their faces, noting the fleshy bulge of their lips and the hard plane of bone up the top of their noses. The differences were so precise, but so astoundingly subtle. His shock at this was such that he could perceive nothing beyond the borders of the human being's face until Brown spoke.
'What are you doing?'
Smith recoiled instantly and violently from the body and clawed his hands, the sinews of his neck bursting with exasperated breaths. He drew the corners of his mouth down in absolute disgust and bared his teeth.
'Don't touch him,' boomed Jones. It sounded more like a piece of advice than a command, and Jones was clearly shaken himself but what had just taken place.
'It was procedure,' snarled Smith. 'I was checking to see if he was still fully unconscious.'
'That's verifiable merely by looking-'
'Just start the car.'
Brown and Jones slipped fully inside the car and prepared to drive to Mr. Anderson's flat, where they had been ordered by Smith to deposit the body. Jones kept one eye on the rear-view mirror as he locked his seatbelt's buckle into the metal clasp. Smith had now retreated completely from Mr. Anderson and was replacing his sunglasses, the passive, dead expression back on his face. The other agent suddenly had the sensation that Smith was staring straight back at him and set his gaze forward down the broad green road, spattered here and there with early afternoon traffic. Brown eased the sedan out into the middle of it.
'Are the sentinels prepared for the clean-up operation?' Smith suddenly inquired.
Jones pressed upon his earpiece. 'They should be deployed within three days - ample time for the extraction of the access codes to be successfully completed. Any hindrance and the operation will be delayed for as long as required.'
'The probability of a complication is extremely low, though,' added Brown, rounding the corner onto Laxe. 'We have not been able to detect any third party of theirs or else any intrusion on the hard-line, so it is unlikely that they have been watching our operations. The bug will be safe.'
Smith suddenly drew up in his seat, remembering. A distraught horror overcame his face, the tight skin remarkably pallid. 'No.'
'What is it?' Even Brown was attempting to alternate his attention between the road and Smith's face now.
'There was a third party, outside the office block. She did not follow us directly, but she may have taken another route. They already know that he has been taken into our custody.' Smith's voice grew quiet and harsh, the tone intensely private. 'Damn it!'
Jones heard the curse, though, and it filled him with confusion and a strange breed of aggression which his programming told him was an extreme. Within the boundaries of agent code, but a definite extreme. It was, he realised, a passion for clinging onto and fulfilling his purpose, a fierce loyalty to pursue the only good he knew. Smith's reactions showed him other paths which he knew were forbidden but was oddly curious regarding. Was Smith evolving? Was he any greater than them now, surpassing the state of equality that they had been "born" into? Was this a mature agent, and this (he pondered, examining himself) the equivalent of a child? Suspicion rose - could Brown be changing also? He was certainly altering the way things were supposed to be. Or was this meant to happen? Were they supposed to thrive - or decay - in this manner? The questions continued, but Jones simply could not understand it. He could carry on scraping through his programme, reading into every encryption, but he would never actually comprehend anything beyond what he had always known.
For example, he had always thought that humans and agents were separate, and furthermore, that agents were the superior species. Smith's astonishment at their human subject's features in relation to his own had suggested, however, that they were very similar indeed. Why? Was it just a way of making sure that the plugged did not suspect that something was wrong? There seemed to be something more to it, but the ends were untied, the connections broken - and the enigma was immense and suffocating.
Am I - human? In any way?
Perhaps it does not matter.
It probably does not.
Jones promptly stopped thinking about these ridiculous concepts, but a gentle murmuring still penetrated his head. At first he thought it was inside his mind, but he soon discovered that it was external to him, entering through his earpiece rather than coming from the air like words spoken by the tongue. It was rather more a tumble of grammar, the train of thought behind which was unclear and confused. Furthermore it was not his voice. It emanated fear, hesitance, fascination and weakness, and it belonged to Smith.
'Love: an intense feeling of deep affection or fondness for a person or thing. I love. I love. I love me. I love you. I love it. I love him. I love her. I love us. I love them. I love everyone. I love no one. I love the woman. I love the man. I love the quick brown fox. I love Brown. I love Jones. I love Morpheus. I love Mr. Anderson. I love humans. I love Smith. I love myself.
'Or do I? Do I hate instead? Do I like or dislike? Do I have the choice to like or dislike? Am I made to like and dislike certain things? Or can I make up my own mind? Can I have this, and leave that? I hate the woman. I hate the man. I hate humans. I hate Morpheus. I hate Mr. Anderson. I hate Smith.
'Can I love and hate at the same time? Can I . pretend? I hate Smith. I love Smith. I pretend I hate Smith, but I love Smith. Why can't I put myself first? I know myself, I know myself. Better than anything in the world. I know myself, and I'm not afraid, not afraid at all. I will stand. I will think. I will be.'
Jones looked back at the rear view mirror. Smith's face had become more contorted than ever. He clearly did not understand all this either, but the difference between them was that he actually wanted to.
Brown drove on, himself hearing every word and knowing that they had lost Smith forever. His face twitched.
=*=
A/N: Again, I entreat you to review and thank you for your time spent reading this. Chapter two should be coming up soon so long as people wish for me to continue the fic (I'm sorry if it sounds a little muddled at the moment). ^_^
A/N: After a very long absence, I have returned. Here's hoping this fic reads well enough. Just to give an idea of setting, this story takes place in the original film, and is really designed as a multi-chapter piece to complement what I covered in the earlier "Everyone and No One", then. Heh, only I realised afterwards that in "Everyone." I had confused Brown and Jones, so this story has put things back in their proper sense. Sorry about that! *Flicks self on head* Anyway, read and review, please!
=*=
Disclaimer: I don't own The Matrix, the machines do. Oh, and the Wachowski Bros., of course.
=*=
Summary: How do Agents Brown and Jones react when Smith's human tendencies become more pronounced and perplexing? A story about purpose, fear, self- doubt and denial.
=*=
The Corrective ~ Chapter One
=*=
A flicker of icy frustration glowed in Smith's eyes as he replaced his sunglasses, only to be extinguished a second later - or perhaps only hidden, they could not tell which - by the two angular panes of opaque black that rimmed his expression so perfectly and sharply. It had been, like all the other instances of late, a momentary thing. Indeed, if one blinked, they would have undoubtedly missed it and scorned any suggestion or suspicion of anything having happened at all. Both of them had noticed it this time, though, and this agreement of opinion was enough to remove any uncertainty. Brown glanced out of the corner of one eye at Jones. The ligaments of the other agent's face, which were of the same consistency and colourlessness, he thought, as paper pulp, did not move, but they were both looking at one another with the same degree of discomfort. Eventually, Brown thought, they had confirmed what he had half-dreaded, half-desired for the past few months.
Smith's chilling tones quickly filled the air. 'You disappoint me-'
'You can't scare me with this Gestapo crap.' Brown and Jones' eyes simultaneously returned to the back of the human's head, registering the slim green columns of code that slipped from its top down to the shoulders and below, capturing the creases of his shirt. From this close, they could see the steady throb of his heart. It told more of annoyance with Smith than of fear.
'I know my rights. I want my phone call.'
' And tell me, Mr. Anderson,' said Smith as a knowing gleam came into his tone, 'what good is a phone call if you are unable to speak?'
The code about the human's head began to intensify, changing from emerald green to a hot white as the switches recorded an alteration in the matrix made by Smith as he spoke. Brown heard a high, shrill ring in his earpiece as the complex laboured to calculate the outcomes of the transformation. Somewhere on the other side of the globe, enterprising businessman Yoshiro Kagijoto disappeared from the meeting that would settle his company's next deal and reappeared briefly in the middle of the Sahara before returning to the conference room. Sarah Jenkins of 294 Latchfield Road witnessed her dwarf black rabbit escape twice from his hutch in the space of three seconds. All the wonders of the universe revealed themselves to high school truant Travis Davies at his local music shop, then vanished inside the belly of the broken acoustic guitar cradled in his arms. Numerous glitches like these were occurring all over the system where the code could not adapt fast enough to Smith's new world order.
Brown's attention shot back to the interrogation room just in time to see Mr. Anderson's mouth weld into nothingness. The human clawed at his face and kicked over his chair, throwing himself away from Smith in terror and perplexity. Brown and Jones moved in with alarming calm and took hold of the human's shoulders. Their grip impossibly firm, they pressed him up against the corner of the room as he bleated through a dumb tongue and a wall of flesh. Smith was still sat at the table with his fists clenched on its surface and his back pressed heavily against the chair as if it were a recliner. Neither of the agents who were forcing open the human's shirt in spite of the little protesting movements of his feet and stomach could muse much about whether Smith's relaxation was at all suggestive of a sigh of relief, but both were easily persuaded of it. They flung Mr. Anderson onto the table like a ragdoll and held his arms and legs down almost effortlessly.
'You're going to help us, Mr. Anderson. Whether you want to or not.'
Only then did Smith stand and take a small silver case from his inside jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal three small wire devices with a solid steel heads, covered in thin glass coats protected from breakage by their container. He was the only agent in their unit to carry these peculiar things, being the leader and co-ordinator and also the one with the steadiest hand. He gripped the device's tail between forefinger and thumb and watched it expand and become organic and alive, the glass expanding about the head and thorax - for now a head, thorax and abdomen as occur in an insect were clearly visible. Smith tightened his hold and the glass exploded in an instant, liberating a mass of scrabbling green-grey legs. The creature, shrimp-like but also with traces of a fine resemblance to a fluke worm, buckled round to see what was clasping onto its tail so tightly and thrashed in a frustrated attempt to free itself. Smith smirked, observing how similar the revolting thing's motion was to that of the human before him. He brought it as close as he dared to the blood-flushed skin of Mr. Anderson's stomach and released it.
Busy tendrils found the human's navel and thrust themselves inside, penetrating the umbilical knot, hauling the head inside. The fine hairs of the insect's belly abraded cold, goose-pimpled flesh and Mr. Anderson's weak screams grew louder and louder, his throat sobbing in between them with its soreness. The parasite, having pulled its fat thorax fully into his intestine, simply slipped its tail swiftly downwards and out of sight. In the same moment, Smith, the only one with his hands free, took his gun from the same pocket that contained two more of the devices and delivered a single blow with its butt against the side of the human's skull. It was, of course, not enough to kill him, but it would knock him unconscious for long enough to ensure that as soon as the pain and fear had been struck into him, he would not trouble them any further in their operations until his assistance in locating the terrorist leader was required.
'We all understand that that is the reason the human has been bugged, of course?' Smith said as they loaded Mr. Anderson's body into the back of the black sedan that figured as their usual method of transport when it was neither preferable nor practical to transfer to another RSI.
'Affirmative. The signal will be easier to trace this way,' replied Jones. 'We will have their captain by twenty-two hundred hours tonight.'
'Good.' Smith disappeared inside the back of the car with the body. His fellow agents saw him prop it up in one of the passenger seats through the tinted window so that the man's head was resting securely against the doorframe and looked at one another through their shades. Their faces imparted no particular expression, only a grim neutrality.
'I sensed something back there,' said Jones in a low voice. 'It was not right.'
'I saw it too,' agreed Brown. He noticed the other agent's rising shoulders, the arms motioning as if they were about to break the window and pull Smith from the car for his very own interrogation. 'Yet it is only a very slight occurrence. We shouldn't act too hastily. It could be dangerous for the both of us.'
Jones relaxed somewhat, though his muscles were still tensed. He knew well enough that there were always possible ramifications for anyone associated with what carried the tendencies of a rogue programme. Already the system was being gradually reconfigured in preparation for the introduction of a new entity designed specifically to delete the Merovingian, one of the most infamous and destructive programmes within the matrix. In order to get to him, that system entry would in all probability have to destroy every single defensive measure affiliated with him. They ran the risk of being suspected of malfunction themselves if Smith were immediately reported. Both were equally harassed by the concern that the system might know already of the fallibility.
'Both of us.' Jones may have been able to restrain his body, but he could not control his insecurity. They had not been programmed to comprehend such things as this.
'Yes. From now on, that is how it is. There are only the two of us so long as he acts in this . way.'
Brown's glare was so piercing and persuasive that the other agent could no longer argue.
They separated and opened the front doors of the sedan, Jones looking to take his place on the other passenger seat, Brown in the position of driver. However, the latter only got as far as the edge of the leather- covered seat before he saw what was happening behind him.
Smith did not seem to have heard either of them prepare to get inside the car. He was sat, very quiet and bolt upright, supporting himself on his side so that he was turned fully towards Mr. Anderson's body. He held both arms aloft, the left hand touching his face, the right the human's. The two other agents watched in silent horror as the extended fingers ran down the contours of Mr. Anderson's cheek, their exact action mirrored by the left hand down the line of his own jaw. Smith then removed his sunglasses, allowing all the world to see the incredulous stare of his cold blue eyes, and moved his fingertips up the centre lines of their faces, noting the fleshy bulge of their lips and the hard plane of bone up the top of their noses. The differences were so precise, but so astoundingly subtle. His shock at this was such that he could perceive nothing beyond the borders of the human being's face until Brown spoke.
'What are you doing?'
Smith recoiled instantly and violently from the body and clawed his hands, the sinews of his neck bursting with exasperated breaths. He drew the corners of his mouth down in absolute disgust and bared his teeth.
'Don't touch him,' boomed Jones. It sounded more like a piece of advice than a command, and Jones was clearly shaken himself but what had just taken place.
'It was procedure,' snarled Smith. 'I was checking to see if he was still fully unconscious.'
'That's verifiable merely by looking-'
'Just start the car.'
Brown and Jones slipped fully inside the car and prepared to drive to Mr. Anderson's flat, where they had been ordered by Smith to deposit the body. Jones kept one eye on the rear-view mirror as he locked his seatbelt's buckle into the metal clasp. Smith had now retreated completely from Mr. Anderson and was replacing his sunglasses, the passive, dead expression back on his face. The other agent suddenly had the sensation that Smith was staring straight back at him and set his gaze forward down the broad green road, spattered here and there with early afternoon traffic. Brown eased the sedan out into the middle of it.
'Are the sentinels prepared for the clean-up operation?' Smith suddenly inquired.
Jones pressed upon his earpiece. 'They should be deployed within three days - ample time for the extraction of the access codes to be successfully completed. Any hindrance and the operation will be delayed for as long as required.'
'The probability of a complication is extremely low, though,' added Brown, rounding the corner onto Laxe. 'We have not been able to detect any third party of theirs or else any intrusion on the hard-line, so it is unlikely that they have been watching our operations. The bug will be safe.'
Smith suddenly drew up in his seat, remembering. A distraught horror overcame his face, the tight skin remarkably pallid. 'No.'
'What is it?' Even Brown was attempting to alternate his attention between the road and Smith's face now.
'There was a third party, outside the office block. She did not follow us directly, but she may have taken another route. They already know that he has been taken into our custody.' Smith's voice grew quiet and harsh, the tone intensely private. 'Damn it!'
Jones heard the curse, though, and it filled him with confusion and a strange breed of aggression which his programming told him was an extreme. Within the boundaries of agent code, but a definite extreme. It was, he realised, a passion for clinging onto and fulfilling his purpose, a fierce loyalty to pursue the only good he knew. Smith's reactions showed him other paths which he knew were forbidden but was oddly curious regarding. Was Smith evolving? Was he any greater than them now, surpassing the state of equality that they had been "born" into? Was this a mature agent, and this (he pondered, examining himself) the equivalent of a child? Suspicion rose - could Brown be changing also? He was certainly altering the way things were supposed to be. Or was this meant to happen? Were they supposed to thrive - or decay - in this manner? The questions continued, but Jones simply could not understand it. He could carry on scraping through his programme, reading into every encryption, but he would never actually comprehend anything beyond what he had always known.
For example, he had always thought that humans and agents were separate, and furthermore, that agents were the superior species. Smith's astonishment at their human subject's features in relation to his own had suggested, however, that they were very similar indeed. Why? Was it just a way of making sure that the plugged did not suspect that something was wrong? There seemed to be something more to it, but the ends were untied, the connections broken - and the enigma was immense and suffocating.
Am I - human? In any way?
Perhaps it does not matter.
It probably does not.
Jones promptly stopped thinking about these ridiculous concepts, but a gentle murmuring still penetrated his head. At first he thought it was inside his mind, but he soon discovered that it was external to him, entering through his earpiece rather than coming from the air like words spoken by the tongue. It was rather more a tumble of grammar, the train of thought behind which was unclear and confused. Furthermore it was not his voice. It emanated fear, hesitance, fascination and weakness, and it belonged to Smith.
'Love: an intense feeling of deep affection or fondness for a person or thing. I love. I love. I love me. I love you. I love it. I love him. I love her. I love us. I love them. I love everyone. I love no one. I love the woman. I love the man. I love the quick brown fox. I love Brown. I love Jones. I love Morpheus. I love Mr. Anderson. I love humans. I love Smith. I love myself.
'Or do I? Do I hate instead? Do I like or dislike? Do I have the choice to like or dislike? Am I made to like and dislike certain things? Or can I make up my own mind? Can I have this, and leave that? I hate the woman. I hate the man. I hate humans. I hate Morpheus. I hate Mr. Anderson. I hate Smith.
'Can I love and hate at the same time? Can I . pretend? I hate Smith. I love Smith. I pretend I hate Smith, but I love Smith. Why can't I put myself first? I know myself, I know myself. Better than anything in the world. I know myself, and I'm not afraid, not afraid at all. I will stand. I will think. I will be.'
Jones looked back at the rear view mirror. Smith's face had become more contorted than ever. He clearly did not understand all this either, but the difference between them was that he actually wanted to.
Brown drove on, himself hearing every word and knowing that they had lost Smith forever. His face twitched.
=*=
A/N: Again, I entreat you to review and thank you for your time spent reading this. Chapter two should be coming up soon so long as people wish for me to continue the fic (I'm sorry if it sounds a little muddled at the moment). ^_^