Alright, alright. So I didn't update for years. So what else is new?

Spoilers: Probably for the other two movies, but not much yet.

Disclaimer: Apart from Bet, if it's a noun it isn't mine.

Rating: I don't do this weird ratings thing. It's a fifteen, okay? For violence and possibly swearing etc.

Author's Note: Here it is, finally. And there's more where that came from. This is not over! For those of you only just reading this, the other chapters were written before the sequels came out, so it may seem a bit different. And a bit short: I just wanted to see if anyone's still interested in reading this thing, so please let me know:) ¬ - 3 / 4 ¬ 2 1 X 2 0 ( 5 ! Ahem.

Soundtrack: Alabama 3 - Woke up this morning (just seems to suit it perfectly, can't understand why it wasn't used in the film. Philistines.)

Bet watched the bullet move with calm detachment: in the wake of her startling revelation it just wasn't that important. It moved so slowly it seemed quite unreal - she side-stepped it neatly and watched the agent's expression change. He raised his gun again and turned to aim oh-so-slowly at Smith as Smith now pointed his weapon at the agent. Bet's gaze flicked from one to the other as she watched them both tense, preparing to fire. She just couldn't reconcile it, none of it made sense. Why was he shooting at her? She didn't even know who he was, she didn't know how she knew who Smith was but couldn't deny that she did. The two agents fired at each other in a blur of smoke and movement that seemed at the same time both stupidly slow and impossibly fast, and she didn't know what to do. She dithered, watching as Smith dodged without seeming to move, fired off more shots, ran out of bullets...

Some sort of sense, some survival instinct must have penetrated her confused fog. She'd started running even before the threatening agent drew his other gun, heading for the unguarded door. Something- sympathy or just common sense?- made her snag Agent Smith's arm as she fled and she towed him down the stairs behind her. She turned left down a corridor and leapt down a helpful fire escape two steps at a time.

Behind her she just registered a long drawn out wail - the sound of heavily Dopplered alarms.

Charged with adrenaline and mortal danger panic she fled down an alleyway, recklessley jumping boxes and dodging bins as she went. Behind her she heard Smith following as he crashed through the obstacles. The sound of more shots being fired gave her fear's extra speed as she realised there were more agents following, armed and easily able to outdistance her. She hated running.

Smith was catching up - she hoped it was Smith - as she sped across the main street, dodging traffic that was barely moving, people who didn't even see her as she pushed them aside. She began to falter as she dodged down another alley and saw it was a dead end. Fatigue that didn't exist seconds ago hit her hard, weighting her legs, dragging her back from her break neck flight. A hand grabbed her shoulder and it was Smith, thank God. He dragged her sideways and up another fire escape, not bothering to wait for her to get her footing, and sped off across the flat roof.

She followed after a second to catch a breath that she wasn't certain she needed, catching up as he leapt the 3 foot gap between buildings. She followed without thinking, stumbling slightly over the landing and risking a panicked glance behind her. Their pursuers were out of sight, just. She looked in the direction she was going just in time to skid to an emergency stop.

Ahead of her the building dropped away, with a twelve-foot gap to the next building. She could see all the way down into the street. The cars were like toys, the people looked like fashionable ants. She teetered on the edge and let out an involuntary yell as Smith's hand on her shoulder pushed her off.

She closed her eyes as she felt the rush of air: she didn't want to see the sidewalk as it got closer and bigger, didn't want to see where she would land and desparately hoped that something would break her fall without breaking her.

Smith's grip didn't relax untill she hit the ground. To her amazed surprise Bet hit it with a relatively gentle thud that did no more damage than scraped knees and a ruined pair of jeans. She opened her eyes cautiously and took stock. She was alive and stood on the other rooftop. Smith stood beside her, dusting off his suit and glaring. They seemed to have lost the other agents. No-one was trying to shoot them. She'd just -no, Smith had just jumped a twelve foot gap and, impossibly, landed neatly on this roof which was actually higher than the one they'd started on.

She wasn't going to faint. Absolutely not, only Jane Austen characters fainted when under stress. Absolutely. Definitely not going to faint. No way. She tried to calm herself and looked up at Smith.

"Did you just..." she trailed off when she caught his expression. He wasn't in the mood for pathetically stupid, pointless humanquestions. "Um..." The intensity of the glare went up a notch, and she went quiet again. She still felt confused, but one was for certain, she wasn't going to get any answers from him. He wiped his hand on his suit trousers as if she'd somehow contaminated him and she suppressed a sudden desire to slap him. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? She saved his life, the least he could do was talk to her. Jerk.

He continued to glare at her, probably hoping she might just disspear and stop being a problem, but Bet wasn't noticing him anymore. She'd just realised that she hadn't been breathing. Not at all. Not even whilst she was running, not even now. The realization shocked her so much her body started to breathe again, got confused and decided to have an asthma attack. The diamond blue glare continued as Smith adjusted his shirt sleeves again. He wanted to know how she'd done that, how she'd escaped like that she could tell. Bet shook her head through a fog of muscle fatigue and tears, waiting for the attack to subside so she could breathe again.

"What are you doing?" His question surprised her enough that she forgot about breathing again to look at him.

"What should we do now?" she asked him, hoping for a straightforward answer.

"We?" he asked, raising an eyebrow annoyingly. She glared right back at him, suddenly furious.

"Yes 'we.'" she snapped "Do you want to be deleted, or erased or whatever it was they were going to do to you?" He looked away for a moment and stayed silent. Aha! "You don't want to be erased, then."

"What I want is irrelevant. I am no longer an agent, I no longer have a purpose. Therefore, I will be decompiled." A stray memory wandered into Bet's head as she listened to his calm announcement. A sudden fear, blind unescapeable terror and a horrifying feeling of disintegration. She swallowed.

"You don't have to. I mean, you've escaped, haven't you?" Haven't we, she added mentally.

"Temporarily." Which was more than she'd feared, but less than she'd hoped for. Oh well.

"So what are you going to do now?" She had the impression he would have shrugged if he were human.

"I have no purpose." In other words, thought Bet irritatedly, he doesn't know. That's just great.

"You know, most humans have to find their own purpose in life." She tried to encourage him but couldn't help feeling that it was entirely pointless.

"I am not human." said with no little pride. Bet resisted the urge to scream in frustration.

"If you wanted a purpose," she said as calmly as she could manage "You could try finding out what the hell is going on." He raised an eyebrow at her again.

"I already know what is going on." God he was infuriating!

"Fine! Good! Could you tell me, maybe?"

"What do you want to know?" He didn't say them out loud, but the words 'As if you'd understand' hung in the air anyway.

" What-" she stared past his shoulder in sudden worry. "Uh, who are they?" Smith turned to glance at the figures now emerging from a nearby doorway. He didn't look pleased to see them. They looked to Bet like serious bikers or something, and she felt certain that she recognised one of them.

"Trouble." Smith answered unneccesarily, just as Bet realised that she did indeed recognise one of the figures. The face was burned into her memory, the last sight she'd seen before everything had gotten incomprehensible. Stiding towards her, flanked by someone with a protective look who had the words 'I'm with her' written all over his face, was a woman who looked like the model for S&M monthly. It was Trinity, and she didn't look pleased.

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Short chapter, I know, but like I said I'm just seeing if anyone's still reading. Well? Come on, if you are, say something!